I aiBRARY OF Congress. "" I 



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i Chap. 

I mUNITED STATES OF AMERICA.^^ 



MOODS 

AND OTHER VERSES 



EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR 



"Not for arrogant pride 
Nor over boldness fail they who have striven 
To tell what they have heard, with voice too weak 
For such high message. More it is than ease, 
Palace and pomp, honours and luxuries. 
To have seen white Presences upon the hill 
To have heard the voices of the Eternal Gods." 

Efic of Hades. — Sir Lewis Morris. 

'The least of us is not too weak 
To leave the world with something done." 

Palinode. — Edmund Gossb. 




D. P. ELDER & MORGAN SHEPARD 
SAN FRANCISCO 

1899 



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Copyright, rSgc)-, by 
Edward Robeson Taylor 



51674 



PRESS OF THE STANLEY-TAYLOR COMPANY 
SAN FRANCJSCO 



SECOND COPY, 



TO MY WIFE 
AGNES STANFORD TAYLOR 

HADST THOU NOT SERVED MY WAYWARD MOOD, 

NOR LET MY LEISURE HAVE ITS WAY, 

'tis truth to SAY THIS LITTLE BROOD 

OF VERSE WOULD NOT HAVE SEEN THE DAY ; 

EXCEPT THE CRUDE, IMPERFECT RHYMES 

I COUPLED IN THE FAR-OFF TIMES, 

WHEN DIVINATION COULD NOT SEE 

WHAT THY FOND HEART SHOULD BRING TO ME ; 

AND IF THE MUSES NOW ENTWINE 

THE SLENDEREST THREAD ROUND BROW OF MINE, 

ONE HALF THE GLORY SHALL BE THINE. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

DEDICATION Ill 

MOODS: I 

My Muse ........ 3 

Dream ......... 4 

My Lady Sleeps ....... 5 

To Sleep ......... 6 

Reverie ........ 7 

Home .....,,,. 8 

Prayer .....,.,. 9 

Consolation . . , . . . . .10 

The Poet lo 

Proof of God . . . . . . . .11 

Thoughts ...... . . 12 

Now . . . . , , , , . 1 5 

Attainment ........ i6 

Sufficiency , . . . . . . .17 

Concentration . , . . . . . 18 

Ambition . . . . . . , , • '9 

The Old, Old Days 20 

Solitude ......... 21 

Poetic Art ........ 22 

Life and Death ....... 22 

Adversity ........ 23 

Refuge ......... 24 



Moods — Continued ; 

Question ...,.,.. 24 

To the Sonnet ...,,,,. 25 

Endeavor ,....,.. 26 

Song its Own Reward ...... 28 

The Divine Harmony ...... 29 

To a Marble Statuette of Beatrice , . , • 3° 

Dawn ......... 31 

The Unfinished Portrait . , , , . • 32 

Love's Fears ........ 33 

Song 34 

Song 35 

My Summer ........ 35 

Deliverance ........ 36 

Work . . . . , .. , .37 

The Sawmill 38 

A Prayer ......... 39 

Endure, Thou Fainting Soul ..... 40 

Pine Not, Nor Fret ....... 41 

Beatitude ........ 42 

ON NATURE'S BREAST: 43 

Nature's Care of Her Own ..... 45 

To the Sierras ........ 46 

At the Presidio of San Francisco .... 47 

The Jonquil 48 

Beauty ......... 49 

After the Storm ....... 50 

Night 51 

At Del Monte, California . . . . . .5^ 



VI 



On Nature's Breast — Continued: 

On Some Landscapes Painted by William Keith : 
I. The Golden Heritage of the Native Sons . 

The Joy of Earth 
April .... 
The Quiet Wood 
The Meadow . 
The Enchanted Wood . 
Dawn .... 

VIII. At Twilight Time 

IX. The Unceasing Round 

X. The Dying Year . 

XI. The Fruitless Quest . 

XII. Promise .... 



II. 

III. 

IV. 

V 

VI. 

VII. 



IN HUMBLE PRAISE : 

To Shakespeare .... 
To Milton .... 

To Goethe 

To Matthew Arnold . 

Robert Browning .... 

To Balzac .... 

To Jose-Maria de Heredia 

To Carlyle ...... 

On Looking at Wordsworth's Engraved Picture 
To Byron ...... 

To Keats ..... 

To Tennyson .... 

Tennyson's Good Fortune 

To Burns .... 



53 

• 53 
54 

. 55 
56 

. 57 
58 

• 59 
60 

. 61 
62 

• 63 
64 



65 
67 
68 
69 

70 

71 
72 

73 
74 
75 
76 

77 
79 
80 
81 



In Humble Praise — Continued: 

To Walter Savage Landor . . . . , 83 

To Goldsmith 84 

To Charles Lamb ....... 85 

To Swinburne on his Drama . . . . .86 

On Looking into the Poems of William Ernest Henley 87 

To Ruskin 88 

To William Blake 88 

Christopher Smart . . . . . . .89 

To William Watson ...... 89 

To James Russell Lowell ...... 90 

After an Evening with Longfellow , . . . 91 

On the Lyrics of Thomas Bailey Aldrich . , '9^ 

Pope ......... 9i 

To William Cullen Bryant 93 

Poe ......... 95 

To Lloyd Mifflin 96 

Written in Lloyd Mifflin's "The Slopes of Helicon" 97 

To Whittier 98 

To a Soiled and Broken Volume of Bayard Taylor's Poems 100 
To Fitz-Greene Halleck . . . . . .101 

To Walt Whitman . . . . . .102 

To George Frederick Watts, R. A. . . . .103 

IN TRIBUTE : 105 

A. S. T 107 

To Professor Jacob Cooper . . . . . 107 

To Dr. Levi Cooper Lane on the Opening of Lane Hospital 108 
George William Curtis . . . . . .110 

David Starr Jordan . . . . . .Ill 



In Tributk — Continued: 

To William Keith 112 

On Reading the Posthumously Published Volume of 
Timothy H. Rearden . . . , , • "13 

To my Friend, W. H. T 114. 

Henry George . , . , . . . -US 

To Andree's Carrier Pigeon . . , , . 116 

To C. S. K 117 

To Ysaye . , , . . , , .122 

To Bonzig . . . , . , .123 

Perpetua . , . . . , , .124 



Arria 



IN MEMORIAM 
P. T. T. 



Dreams 

To P. T. T. 



To Death 



125 



In the Convent Garden . . . . , .126 

Harro . . . , , , , , .127 

Invocation to San Francisco . . . . . 132 

My Friend . . , . . , , .133 



135 

137 



Among the Wheels . . . . . . 138 



139 
140 



Dirge 141 

Out of the Shadow , , . . . .142 



143 



Envoy 144. 

TRANSLATIONS : 145 

From a Winnower of Grain to the Winds {After Du 

Bellay) 147 

From Voltaire : ... ..148 



IX 



Translations — Continued: 

To a Lady . . , , , , , .148 

To Madame du Chatelet 148 

To a Prater . . . . , , . .149 

Epigram ........ 149 

Epigram . . . . . . . . .150 

Farewell to Life . . . . . . .151 

From Victor Hugo : , . , , . .153 

The Tomb and the Rose . . . . . 153 

Come Near Me When I Sleep . . . . .154 

In the Cemetery of . . , . . 155 

What is Heard on the Mountain . . . .157 

From Alfred de Musset : . . . . . 162 

The Pelican . .162 

The Poet 163 

Impromptu in Response to the Question : What is 

Poetry ? . . . . . . . .164 

Song . . . . . . . . .165 

Adieu, Suzon . . . . . , .166 

From Beranger : . . . . , . .168 

Mary Stuart's Farewell , . . . . . 168 

Fifty Years . . . . . . . .171 

Jacques . . . . . . , .173 

From Leconte de Lisle: . . . . . .176 

The Vase . . . . . . . .176 

Solar Hercules . . . . . . . .178 

The Condor's Sleep . . . . . .179 

To a Dead Poet 181 

My Secret {After Felix Ar-vers) . . . . 182 

The Lady's Answer {After Louis Aigoin^ , . .183 



Translations — Continued : 

Philosophy [After Taine) 184 

My Bohemia [After Arthur Rimbaud) . . .185 

From Goethe: . . . . . . ,186 

The Violet 186 

The Angler ^ . 187 

Under the Linden . . . . . . .189 

Faust's Wager . . . . . . . 191 

Margaret at the Spinning Wheel . , . .19a 

The Hunter of the Alps [After Schiller) . . 194 

Love and Time [After the Modern Greek) . . .197 

The Soldier's Fate [After Prof. Putzker) . . 198 

BENEDICTION 20i 



Moods 



** Blest is the man who with the sound of song 

Can charm away the heartache, and forget 
The frost of penury and stings of wrong, 
And drown the fatal whisper of regret ! 
Darker are the abodes 

Of Kings, tho' his be poor, 
While Fancies, like the Gods, 
Pass thro' his door." 
The Skylark and the Poet. — Frederick Tennyson. 

"In common things that round us lie 

Some random truths he can impart, — 
The harvest of a quiet eye 

That broods and sleeps on his own heart." 

A Poet's Epitaph. — Wordsworth. 



MY MUSE 



If that my Muse can never hope to soar 
Above the summits vi^here unw^asting snov^s 
Are fellows of the stars; — if that she know^ 
No swelling note of forest, sea, or shore; — 

If e'en no streamlet of melodious lore 

The tiniest craft of hers divinely shovi^; — 
Or not for her the lightest breeze that blows 
In voiceful harmony Parnassus o'er; — 

Yet her dear self I could not think to chide. 
Nor deem her less than some anointed saint 
Who guards my soul: sufficient unto me 

If in my deepest being she abide. 

To hold my wandering thoughts in sweet constraint. 
And all that's noblest give me sight to see. 



DREAM 



It may be that in some auspicious hour. 
When all life's currents run serenely free, 
A voice will come from Dreamland unto me 
Upborne on music of celestial power. 

Then in the garden of my heart some flower 
May burst to bloom in sudden ecstasy. 
And with delightful, deathless fragrancy 
Add mite of glory to the Poet's dower. 

O soul, thou feedest on the husks of hope. 

And starvest while the things within thy scope 
Lie all before thee in their bounty spread. 

And yet, ah, let me for at least to-day 
Enjoy the vision ere it melts away. 
To be with other dreams forever fled. 



MY LADY SLEEPS 



TO A. S. T. 



My lady sleeps, and sleeps in sweetest peace; 
No stain of tear is on her restful face. 
While placid smiles do there each other chase. 
To give assurance of her pain's release. 

Her radiant head, that doth the pillow crease 
In such serene repose, I fain would kiss 
Till heart and soul were emptied of all bliss. 
And love itself gave thankfulness surcease. 

O Sleep, thou top of blessings ! What to thee 
Does grief-struck, pain-tormented man not owe. 
Or how, without thee, from his miseries flee ? 

And now that thou my lady's couch dost know. 
From torture's agony to set her free. 
Thou beamest on me with divinest glow. 



TO SLEEP 



Thou angel Sleep, when I recall to mind 
The sons of Genius, who on soaring wing 
Have sung of thee the choicest they could sing. 
In jeweled phrases goldenly enshrined 

In love perennial of humankind, 

I scarce durst try to body forth the note 
That swells within my unmelodious throat. 
Craving some fitting utterance to find; 

But when thou cam'st on yesternight to me. 
And stroked so tenderly my feverous head. 
That thought and sense to sweet oblivion's sea 

From every grief and irritation fled. 

My grateful heart became so full of thee. 

That, scoff who may, my Muse and thou must wed. 



REVERIE 



What realm is thine, thou gentle ruler. Sleep ! 
All life obeys thee, while earth's countless graves 
But point to where thy ageless banner waves. 
And where thou dost unbroken vigil keep. 

Innumerous messengers are thine, who leap 
To do thy bidding — noiseless, nimble knaves. 
Who bring from out thy many-chambered caves 
Sweet dreams wherein the troubled brain to steep. 

And from thy choicest chamber steals thy child 
Poetic souls do know as Reverie; 
'Tis she whose fingers set the spirit free. 

So that from every fleshly hindrance isled. 

It may with Fancy roam the woodland wild. 
Or sail upon Imagination's sea. 



HOME 



TO A. S. T. AND P. C. L. 



Of earthly things thou greatest blessing — Home I 

Safe refuge where the overburdened soul 

Lays down its weary weight of toil and care. 

To gain refreshment in the arms of rest. 

In deep dreams there the frets of life are hushed. 

Its turmoils and its woes, while the stopped ears 

Hear nought of clamor's unrelenting noise 

That roars tumultuous in the world without. 

And there the mistress of the blest abode 

In sweetest tyranny serenely sways 

Her silver sceptre over all the house. 

Until each feverous, discordant pulse. 

Ruled by the music of her bounteous love. 

Beats to the measure of harmonious peace. 



PRAYER 

Thou Power divine man feels so well 

Yet in thy fbllness never knows. 
That in the humblest weed doth dwell. 

As in the queenliest rose that blows. 
And in the tides of all the seas. 

And in the heart of man and beast; 
That soundest all the harmonies 

From nature's greatest to her least; 

Mayhap no merely human prayer 

Addressed to thee can aught avail; 
Mayhap thy forces have no care 

For joyful song or woeful wail; — 
But when with weariness we faint. 

When burdens crush, or griefs dismay. 
When faiths have lost their old restraint. 

We fall upon our knees to pray. 

And wherefore should we not, if thou 
Art what we fain believe thou art — 
If thou thy presence dost avow 



Prayer In all the beatings of our heart ? 

Call then, O Soul, thine angels blest; 

Drive out the host of bestial sin; 
Plant conquering courage in the breast. 
And let the spirit's glory in. 

CONSOLATION 

The world is hard, and selfishness supreme; 
The love of man for man is all a dream. 
And e'en Religion but a worn-out theme . . . 

Ofttimes it seemeth so. 
Still, souls there are who do themselves forget; 
Man strives and bleeds for man; and even as yet 
Religion soothes us in our toil and fret . . . 

Ofttimes 'tis surely so. 

THE POET 

He crushed his heart for wine of song 
With which the soul of man to glad; 

But who of all the careless throng 

Could dream how mad he was — how mad ! 
lO 



PROOF OF GOD 



Dost ask for proof oi God ? — Thou mayst as well 
Ask of the daisy, as it meekly blows. 
Whence cometh it, or how, or why it grows; 
Or pray the world-compelling genius tell 

The secret cunning of his magic spell; — 

But when their hearts lie close against thine own 
Until their pulse-beats thrill thee to the bone. 
Doubt's demons perish in their self-made hell. 

The wings of Reason beat themselves in vain 
Against the ether of a soundless air. 
To fold at last in logic's dull despair. 

Divinely ordered is this fruitless lore: 

For were God proved, all mystery would be plain. 
And man himself, as man, could be no more. 



II 



THOUGHTS 



A dream came o'er me, and I thought 
A hundred ships, blown from the East, 

To me had rarest cargoes brought. 

With which to make a wondrous feast. 

But as the ships at anchor lay, 

A storm-wind blew from out the West, 
And when I looked, at break of day. 

No ships were seen, no bidden guest. 



We cannot all be wisely great. 
Much less be greatly wise; 

To few alone is't given by fate 
To read the mysteries. 

And in the mass of rubbish find 

The food that nourishes mankind — 
But none there is who cannot move 
The world a little with his love. 



The child holds out its loving hand Thoughts 

For gifts supplied from fairyland; 
Life lies for it in smiles and tears, 
Unvexed by doubt, unharmed by fears. 

Youth sees beyond the fairyland. 
And having life's horizon scanned. 
It swells w^ith self-conceit to knowr 
That all is plain from high to low. 

In manhood knowledge brings her lore. 
To gender doubts still more and more. 
Until at last it dares to know 
That all is dark and will be so. 

But through the dark the sage shall see 
The stars that light the life to be. 
Assured he shall forever grow. 
But never can completely know. 



The deepest poem is the one we feel. 
And not the one that language can reveal; 
Oh, times there are when music stirs the soul 
Beyond mere words to measure or control, 

13 



Thoughts And myriad thoughts flit ghostlike through the brain 
That all the tongues of earth could never chain. 
Let artist paint with ne'er so deep a speech. 
Great worlds there are he cannot hope to reach. 



One doubts, one fears, one calls on circumstance. 
And one is blown by every wind of chance; 
While yet another looks into his soul. 
And sails serenely to his destined goal. 



Like him who, drawn by glorious heights beyond. 

Is forced to cross the intervening flood 

By dangerous step from slippery stone to stone. 

So we, in this tumultuous life, but step 

In trembling from one trouble to another. 

While Error waits with her remorseless train 

In hope to whelm us in the raging wave. 



H 



NOW 



Oh, do not wait until in earth I lie 

Before thou givest me my rightful meed; 

Oh, do not now in coldness pass me by. 

And then cry praises which I cannot heed. 

If I have helped thee on thy weary way. 

Or lightened in the least thy burden's weight. 

Haste with love's tokens ere another day 

Shall pierce thee with the fatal words, "Too late." 

The present moment is thy time to live: 

The Past is gone, the Future may not be; 

If thou hast treasure of thy heart to give 

To hungry souls, bestow it speedily; — 

For sweet Love's sake, let not to-morrow's sun 
Tempt thee to wait before thou see it done. 



IS 



ATTAINMENT 



We sigh for things we scarce may hope to gain. 
And which, if all our own, would give no peace; 
We vainly toil and struggle to release 
To knowledge nature's secrets; we complain 

That 'tis not given us to break some chain. 

To scale some peak, to fetch some golden fleece. 
To do some mighty deed whose light shall cease 
Only when moons no longer wax and wane^ 

'Tis thus we make a mockery of life. 
And miss the blessing at our very hand: 
For Faith and Love, with glory as of sun. 

Illume the path to Peace through every strife; 
No work is futile that is nobly planned; 
No deed is little if but greatly done. 



i6 



SUFFICIENCY 



Let vulgar Malice work its venomed will 

Against the heart that would have given its blood 
To shield the thing which strikes it; let the brood 
Of Envy swarm like bees a-hiving, and distil 

Poisons more sure than those of Borgian skill; 
Let Friendship wither, and a common good 
No more be nourished by her nectared food; 
And even dear Love insanely stab and kill. 

Let all this be, with ills as yet unguessed; 
And still, thou shalt as ocean wind be free. 
If bravely thou dost seek thy strength and rest 

Within thyself, bending compliant knee 

To Conscience only, and in peace possessed 
Of that all-crowning grace — Humility. 



17 



CONCENTRATION 



TO L. C. L. 



Mark how the florist's cunning hand compels 
That weed unique, the strange chrysanthemum. 
To crown one lonely stalk whose blossomed sum 
To giant size and gorgeous beauty swells — 

The forces pulsing in its myriad cells 

Concentring all their magic and their power 
To build the structure of a single flower. 
Wherein the plant its dazzling triumph tells. 

So shouldst thou have the will, O struggling soul. 
To hold thy thoughts and actions to the pole 
Of one imperious, exclusive aim; 

Then may thy stalk a wondrous blossom bear. 
Which shall for thee achievement's glory wear. 
And be to others as a sign of flame. 



I8 



AMBITION 



*' Long have I sued, and still have sued in vain; — 
My one and only love, w^hy holdst me ofF 
With laughing banter and with bitter scoff? 
Wilt never ease my heart's unceasing pain?" 

*' If thou'lt be brave," said she, "thy sorrow's rain 
Shall breed a harvest; look! seest thou yon peak 
That lifts at dizzy height its snowy beak ? 
Bear me to that, and thou my heart shalt drain." 

Upon his back he took the tempting maid. 
And upward went; up and still up he strode. 
The distant, glittering peak his constant guide; 

Still up, o'er Alp on Alp, he strained, nor stayed 
Till to the pinnacle he bore his load — 
Then like an idiot laughed . . . and gasping , . . 
died. 



»9 



THE OLD, OLD DAYS 

TO L. M. L. AND J. A. Q. 

O golden-hearted, richly -hallowed days 

That loom through deepening mists on memory's 

shore. 
When boyhood fed from joy's unmeasured store 
As hope sang loud her sweetest roundelays ! 

How romped we in the wood's far-opening ways 
When irksome studies for the time were o'er; 
How plied we games in their abounding lore. 
How felt as gods when victory led to praise ! 

The Master's strenuous voice ceased long ago. 
While few of all that throng on earth can be. 
And these are burdened with the weight of years ; 

Yet on that fruitful spot still others glow 

With youthful fire and sport the same as we. 
Undreamt the future's agonies and tears. 



20 



SOLITUDE 



Thy aid I supplicate, O Solitude, 

For one sore wounded in the unending strife 
That makes such burden of our daily life; 
Let me with thy repose be deep imbrued; 

On thy smooth stream bear off each feverous mood. 
And float my spirit to the Isles of Calm 
Where grows luxuriant thy healing balm. 
And where mad clamor never may intrude. 

Where thou wilt take me it doth matter not. 
For where thou art my spirit's peace will be; 
The mind, fresh-winged, will rise to nobler thought. 

And radiant sprites from Dreamland visit me. 
As from my covert, with fresh beauties fraught 
Looms Life's vast, varicolored, pulsing sea. 



21 



POETIC ART 

The cities vanish; one by one 
The glories go that glories won; 
At Time's continuous, fateful call 
The palaces and temples fall; 
While heroes do their deeds and then 
Sink down to earth as other men. 
Yet, let the Poet's mind and heart 
But touch them with the wand of Art, 
And lo! they rise and shine once more 
In greater splendor than before. 



LIFE AND DEATH 

Life is not all in all. 

Nor yet is Death; 
But from the Vast they call. 

And each one saith: 
I am the one in whom thy being lies; 
Accept thy fate, nor fear me when I rise. 



ADVERSITY 



O friend, when glad Fortuna comes to thee 
With hands that offer more than liberal spoils. 
Beware, lest slyly hid a serpent coils. 
Thy soul to poison with Prosperity. 

Thou never canst seraphic visions see 
As noble recompense for strenuous toils. 
Unless within thy deepest being boils 
Some tear-fed fountain of Adversity. 

The steel that Florence drove in Dante's heart 
He fashioned to a lyre whereon with ease 
He deathless rose above the hells of hate ; 

And when life-wearied Milton sat apart. 

Lonely and blind, he swept those organ keys 
Whose tones from age to age reverberate. 



23 



REFUGE 

TO PROFESSOR ALBIN PUTZKER 

The winds of grief were driving him 

Upon the rocks despair had reared. 
When in the distance faintly dim 

The Star of Poesy appeared ; 
And as toward her his face he turned 

With hope and courage in his breast. 
She then with great refulgence burned. 

To light him to the port of Rest. 



QUESTION 

Outside, the rain is dreary. 
Inside, my heart is weary ; 
Outside, the winds are sighing. 
Inside, my hopes are dying ; 
O Earth, where is thy beauty ? 
O Soul, where is thy duty ? 

24 



TO THE SONNET 



Bound in the fetters of thy narrow frame 

What souls have conquered song ! — Here Dante's 

woe. 
As Petrarch's, swells to joy; here Angelo 
Greatens the glory of his mighty name; 

'Tis here that Shakespeare bares his breast to blame. 
And here that Milton stoops, great strains to blow; 
Here Wordsworth's notes with rapturing music flow. 
While Keats divinely glows with quenchless flame. 

Yea, all the rhymsters of our modern day 

Crowd round thy shrine, and beg thee to enring 
Their brows with leaves of thy immortal bay; 

Such crown is not for me, but prithee fling 
Thy spell upon me, so at least I may 
Yet dream of beauties I can never sing. 



2? 



ENDEAVOR 
I 

" I discern 
Vain aspiration, — unresullive work." 

— Mri. Browning's " Prometheui Bound " of /^s<hylus. 

Still am I tossed upon a troubled sea. 

Puzzled and doubting how to make my way; 

Resultless day follows resultless day. 

And even my dreams no solace bring to me. 

At Duty's call, unheeding other plea. 

Have I pushed forward, scornful of delay. 
Ne'er yielding sense to indolence's sway. 
Nor grieving over what might never be. 

And now, the years seem shorter as they run. 
Nor dares my life to hope for many more. 
Or should they come, that they will truly bless. 

The best that lay within me has been done; 
And as an end all vainly I deplore 
Endeavor's dreary waste of fruitlessness. 



26 



II 



Thou wavering soul, what note is this to sound? Endeavor 

Dost prate of Duty, yet art satisfied 

With what thou hast in scarce half-struggle tried? 

Dost beat thy wings against thy self-made bound. 
Forgetful that in Life's unresting round 

All marvellously wondrous things abide 

For him who seeks and will not be denied ? 

And that the humblest may not go uncrowned? 
O blinded one, unhood thy spirit's eyes. 

So they may truly see the world without. 

And that still other world which stirs within; 
Then canst thou soar above thy miseries 

To heights undarkened by the clouds of Doubt, 

And where to Victory thou mayst be kin. 



27 



SONG ITS OWN REWARD 

TO JOHN MUIR 

Song is its own reward, so said to me 

My clear-eyed, toiling friend whose jewelled prose 
With joy of being sings as on it flows, 
Bearing the thoughts that teach us to be free ; 

Thou shouldst not hush one note of Poesy 
That from Parnassian heights rejoicing blows. 
Though none of all the world its music knows. 
Or knowing cares for, saving only thee. 

O friend, thou nursling of the mountain's breast, 
True brother of the glacier and the pine, 
'Tis meet thy voice this lesson has impressed ; 

For do not all these noble kin of thine 
Ring out forevermore their strains divine 
Though not one soul may hearken to be blest ! 



28 



THE DIVINE HARMONY 

TO MRS. L. C. LANE 

A single soul — what microscopic mite 

When measured ^ gainst the universe of things ! 

A voice that for a moment sobs and sings. 

And then seems lost in silence of the night. 
But yet how great the meanest, merest sprite 

When measured in the universe of things ! 

For there 'tis one with earth's supremest kings. 

And bathes in unextinguishable light. 
It must be that the note of every soul 

Is needed in the harmonies that roll 

And throb eternally with power divine ; 
And I, dear friend, when stars were fair to see. 

Have drank the summit's deep delights with thee. 

As shone refulgent the assuring sign. 



29 



TO A MARBLE STATUETTE OF 
BEATRICE 



When youthful Dante's roving, marvellous eyes 
Upon the universe began to ope 
As if with presage of their future scope. 
They saw thy great original arise ; 

And then he thrilled as one divinely wise. 
For well he knew the star of faith and hope 
That should lead on his travailing soul to cope 
With all the hells beneath storm-clouded skies. 

And now in marble spotless as her name 
Thou dost compel such tribute to her fame 
As if her own deep gaze upon us beamed ; 

For thine the art wherein we newly see 

Some hint of that which Dante greatly dreamed 
Of woman's loveliness and purity. 



30 



DAWN 

TO JAMES ADDISON QUARLES 

Now radiant Dawn unlocks her roseate doors, 
Whence all her featly-footed, swarming band 
Streams swift along the sleep-encompassed land. 
And in the skies on fiery pinion soars. 

The pauseless glory sweeps by moaning shores 

Where Storm's poor victims strew the shuddering 

strand. 
While from the heights where trees rejoicing stand 
It through my lady's window softly pours. 

And as the fulgent beams grow still more bright, 
Man flees the darker deeds of tempting Night 
And meets with fresh resolve the new-born Day, 

My dear old friend, when comes to us anon 
That earthly Night no power can roll away. 
May we together greet a newer Dawn. 



31 



THE UNFINISHED PORTRAIT 

TO W. K. AND E. M. 

** I cannot strike the color for this eye. 
Nor bend the arch above it; — ah, to-day 
My brush's cunning, do the best I may. 
In very mockery fain would pass me by." 

Thus spake the Master as he stood anigh 
His easel, where a young man's portrait lay 
So near to perfectness it seemed to say. 
Give me not up ere once again you try. 

Then with a fury such as genius knows. 

He spread his pigments all that portrait o'er 
Until a landscape shone divinely there; 

And in the glories of its great repose 
Imagination feels, as ne'er before. 
Some hidden spirit breathe through all the air. 



32 



LOVE'S FEARS 

Thou dost not love me — that I see; 

So let us part. 
Although I feel it means to me 

A breaking heart. 

But better thus than have thee near 

From day to day. 
And freeze with oft-recurring fear 

That love's away. 

One chilling kiss, and all is o'er 

Between us twain. 
And then, and then, perchance no more 

To meet again; 

No more to have thy presence fill 

My leisure hours; 
No more to know that earth has still 

For me some flowers. 

No more means much; — that thou and I 

Life's wine could drink 
From different cups and peace not die, 
'Twere vain to think. 

33 



Love' s 'Tis past; — I feel, when drawing nigh 
^'''''' The fateful edge. 

Affection come with stronger tie 
And newer pledge. 

We cannot part — the love of years 

Shall not be slain 
By all the misbegotten fears 

That e'er caused pain. 

Then let the darkness leave thine eye. 

And on thy breast 
My all forgiven, foolish cry 

Be hushed to rest. 

SONG 

I dare be sworn thou lov'st me; but thy word 
Is so at odds with what thou dost accord. 
That torn with doubt I oft do sadly fain 
To never look upon thy face again. 

But when once more thy beauty fills mine eye. 
Thou art to me all things beneath the sky. 
And then, despite all doubt, I fondly fain 
To never lose thee from my sight again. 

34 



SONG 

Always be the same, sweetheart. 
Or we must forever part; 
Smiles to-day and frowns to-morrow 
Can but bring us anxious sorrow; 
Be the same as now thou art. 
And we shall not, cannot, part. 

Do I doubt thee ? — never ! never ! — 
Love shall hold us fast forever; 
Folded in thine eager arms. 
Life for me can have no harms; 
Pillowed on thy fragrant breast. 
Come what may I must be blest. 



MY SUMMER 

Winter once more comes on apace 
With chilling wind and lowering sky. 

But summer still makes glad thy face. 
And in its warmth I restful lie. 

35 



DELIVERANCE 

IN MEMORY OF J. T. H. 

Thus spake my friend: — What bliss can fill the breast 
When drawn from deepest wells of dark despair, 
I knew not till I ventured forth to fare 
On ocean's paths by tempest's wrath possessed: 

Throughout the night in fearsome, sick unrest. 
We felt our helpless ship reel blindly where 
Storm's unexhausted legions filled the air 
And rode with fury on each billow's crest. 

But when the last dim ray of hope seemed gone. 
The winds drew off", and long-awaited dawn 
With beauty's topmost glory lit the sea; 

And as the sun above the horizon shone. 

Beyond the waves with many a rainbow sown 
I saw my child once more upon my knee. 



36 



WORK 



To age-worn palace veiled with vine and tree 
I listless came one summer afternoon, 
A self-invited guest who craved the boon 
Of peaceful idlesse in that privacy. 

And then, as swung the portal back for me, 
I saw some inmates lounge as half in swoon. 
While others gaped and yawned, tried trivial tune. 
Turned a few leaves, then wandered aimlessly. 

And when Ennui, the jewelled queen of these. 
Uprising from her bed of poppied ease. 
Drawled greeting such as indolence could spare, 

I fled aghast the humblest tool to seize. 
And as its strokes with music filled the air 
Peace spread her wings in holy blessing there. 



37 



THE SAWMILL 



The demon Sawmill said, I lack for food 

Wherewith to cram this craving maw of mine. 

That spite of nature and of law divine 

Would gorge on all that's grandest in the wood. 

Then they who madly serve the monster's good. 
Mid jocund laughter, slew a giant pine. 
As bright-eyed, cheery morn with flaming sign 
Awoke to life the slumbering solitude. 

For immemorial years this fallen one 

Had been so loved by earth and air and sun. 
It seemed with beauty for the ages clad; 

And as its massive trunk and members lie 
Dissevered and a wreck, we marvel why 
The demon and its slaves can still be glad. 



38 



A PRAYER 



Why mockest me, thou dearest, loveliest Muse ? 

When all my days I've sought thy jeweled shrine. 
To offer there this heart and soul of mine. 
How canst thou still thy countenance refuse ? 

Wouldst thou but grant thy favor, I should choose 
No other worship saving only thine. 
Till blest by thee my song, thus made divine. 
Might rise to music it could never lose. 

My foolish clamor beats itself in vain 
Upon the rock of thy unyielding breast. 
And dies away in inarticulate moan. 

I chide thee not; but oh, let live the strain 
Which in my being ever unexpressed 
Still keeps me better than a desert stone. 



39 



ENDURE, THOU FAINTING SOUL 



Endure, thou fainting soul, thou must endure: 

Though thou hast labored and hast met but scath; 
Though baseness sicken thee; though Fortune's wrath 
Should rack and rend thee past all hope of cure. 

And Love should feign herself too stripped and poor 
To help or bless, until at last it seems 
That Death should end thy unresultive dreams. 
Even then, despairing soul, thou shouldst endure; — 

For lo, behold ! all fellows are thy kin 
From mightiest sun to merest atomy; 
Yea, all that is, which shall be, and has been. 

In that mysterious, vast immensity 

In which 'tis given thee to play thy part — 
Then forward, with fresh courage in thy heart ! 



40 



PINE NOT, NOR FRET 

Pine not, nor fret : 
The rains will fall. 
The sun will shine. 
The flowers all bloom. 
And grains and fruits 
Their riches yield; 
The wheels will turn. 
And ever turn. 
And ships still sail. 
And ever sail. 
But do thy part. 
With faith and love. 
As best thou canst. 
And nought on earth 
Can work thee ill. 
Or make thee feel 
One pang oi' fear. 



41 



BEATITUDE 

TO J. A. (^ 

Thrice blest is he, who, when Death comes 

To bear him captive to the unknown realm. 

Which lies bevoml the reach of mortal ken. 

Can look serenely in his awtiil face. 

And hear tlie summons with complacent smile; 

Who, U)t)kinj^ back upon his earthly years. 

Can see the trees of never-fading green. 

Which flourish trt)m the seeds, he planted, of good 

deeds; 
And who, witii blessing on tlie ones he loved. 
And those who loved him in his worldly walks. 
Where he dispensed the goodness of his heart. 
Can look his last farewell without a sigh. 
And tall asleep as peacetullv as docs 
A wearied child uyum its mother's breast. 



On Nature's Breast 



" My heart leaps up when I behold 
A rainbow in the sky ; 
So was it when my life began ; 
So is it now I am a man ; 
So be it when I shall grow old, 
Or let me die ! ** 

Wordsworth. 

•• Underlbot the divine soil, overhead the sun." 

Walt Whitman. 



NATURE'S CARE OF HER OWN 

TO J. M. AND T. M. 

Nature takes loving thought of all her own 

With marvellous cunning and with watchful eye. 
So that her countless brood may multiply. 
Nor leave their mother desolate and lone. 

To the wild fruits by care of man unknown. 
That ripe where winter at his stormiest blows. 
She gives more seeds and better than to those 
In cultured garden delicately grown. 

And so in him that on the rugged breast 
Of mountain finds his joy and his repose. 
Who makes the pine his fellow, and with zest 

Treads the great glaciers and their kindred snows, 
A strength is planted that in direst test 
Dares all the devils of Danger to oppose. 



45 



TO THE SIERRAS 



Thou beckonest to me and I come once more; 
Once more to lay my head upon thy breast. 
And feel thy easeful, all-sufficing rest 
Body and mind deliciously steal o'er. 

My soul so hungers for thy bounteous store. 
That every heart-beat of its riches sings. 
And every thought, on love's unflagging wings. 
Leaves far behind the city's maddening roar. 

'Twere joy enough to have thee once again. 
If such possession were my very last 
This side of death: to leave the haunts of men. 

And in thy solitudes, bespeaking vast. 
Entrancing mysteries, to be as one 
With sons and stars and all they look upon. 



46 



AT THE PRESIDIO OF SAN FRANCISCO 



The rose and honeysuckle here entwine 
In lovely comradeship their amorous arms; 
Here grasses spread their undecaying charms, 
And every wall is eloquent with vine; 

Far-reaching avenues make beckoning sign. 
And as we stroll along their tree-lined way. 
The songster trills his rapture-breathing lay 
From where he finds inviolable shrine. 

And yet, within this beauty-haunted place 
War keeps his dreadful engines at command, 
With scarce a smile upon his frowning face. 

And ever ready, unrelaxing hand . . . 

We start to see, when dreaming in these bowers, 
A tiger sleeping on a bed of flowers. 



47 



THE JONQUIL 



TO W. B. K. 



As o'er the city's dark and bustling street 
He swiftly made his task-appointed way. 
Before his feet upon the pavement lay 
The mute, appealing face of jonquil sweet — 

No more its father Sun at morn to greet 
With music from its golden trumpet blown; 
Untimely plucked to perish all alone. 
Nor find in natal soil its winding sheet. 

With tenderness he took the beauteous thing 
As yet unstained with soilure of the town. 
And for his friend he bade its music flow; 

And now again in glory it doth ring. 

With note that gives it more than mortal crown. 
Of friendship blooming in the long ago. 



48 



BEAUTY 

THE MAN TO THE ROSE : 

Rose, with heart of flaming gold. 
Wilt tell me what thou hast been told. 
And make me merry, make me sad. 

With what thou knowest of good and bad? 

1 see thee bending lowly now . 
As if with weight of prayerful vow — 
So lovely that I faint to see 

The beauty glorified in thee; 

But doubt will work its cruel way 
Though fiend or angel bid it stay. 
And now despite thy joy to me, 
I fain would dare to question thee. 

THE ROSE TO THE MAN : 
Dost see the bee that gently sips 
The nectar from my welcome lips ? 
He takes his good without a sigh. 
Nor seems to seek for reason why. 

My lover Sun I do not ask 
For any but affection's task, 

49 



Beauty Content to have him shine on me. 

And breed the gold that puzzles thee. 

But this I give for future thought: 
When thou to me in love hast brought 
Goodness and Truth, thou then mayst know 
Why I and all my kind do blow. 

AFTER THE STORM 

The storm is o'er; the angry clouds 

All sullenly retire 
To where beneath the western sun 

They blaze with peaceful fire; 

While winds, that tore like demons wild 

At earth's defenceless breast. 
Have sated their unwonted rage. 

And calmly sink to rest. 

And now the grass looks up and laughs. 

And in the rose's heart. 
Erst bowed with grief, I see a joy 

That heals my bosom's smart. 



50 



NIGHT 



As oft of old, I watched the sun leap o'er 
The golden barriers of the farthest West, 
And saw the stars on heaven's deep azure breast 
In splendor blaze as never seen before; 

And then upon mine ear began to pour. 
In waves innumerous that knew no rest. 
The sharp, sweet notes of myriad ones that blest 
My inmost soul with more than music's lore: 

Unnoted these great stars glow all the day. 
Unheard these tiny insects chirp their lay — 
Eclipsed by louder sound, by brighter light. 

Thus many a sweet and patient one of earth 

Shines on, sings on, unmarked her priceless worth 
Till she has glorified Misfortune's night. 



51 



AT DEL MONTE, CALIFORNIA 

JULY 24, 1898. 
TO M. E. OF CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND. 

We passed through hoary, dozing Monterey, 
And thrilled to see the gloried spot from where 
The Stars and Stripes first floated on the air. 
To give this matchless land a newer day; 

Then through the piney woods we took our way. 
On either hand great ferns, the tangled hair 
Of varicolored vines, and blossoms fair 
That on earth's tawny breast all starlike lay. 

And still we went until against the sky. 

Where hung the gray-hued banners of the mist. 
The weird, gnarled cypresses dazed sense and eye. 

The shore was there by emerald breakers kissed; 
But from their crested bloom and sovran pride 
I turned to rose of England by my side. 



52 



ON SOME LANDSCAPES PAINTED BY 

WILLIAM KEITH 

I 



Behold this canvas where the artist shows 
Our Golden Heritage: The sovran Sun 
In ripened harvest sees his triumph won. 
And golden glories deepen to repose. 

Save where the laden wain an accent throws 
Of voiceful toil; afar the mountains swim; 
Great trees ensentinel the valley's rim. 
And childhood gambols where the streamlet flows. 

O children, nature here has given her best — 
So rich, no poet could its wealth proclaim 
Though dowered with words of ruby-hearted flame; 

Knead with it best of yours; and so possessed. 

May you, faced starward, mount to summits where 
Your souls shall blossom in celestial air. 



The 

Golden 

Heritage 

of the 

Native 

Sons 



53 



II 



Earth 



The Who doubts the earth speaks audibly unto 
joy Of "YYie heart of everyone that lists to hear. 

Setting its beats to music ? If to thee not clear 
Her ceaseless note that rings beneath the blue; 

Or hast thou never been impelled to woo 

Her beauty-glowing forms, nor sought her ways, 
I pray thee on this breathing picture gaze. 
That Art may give thee all thy soul's best due. 

For here Earth seems with radiant joy to say: 
Behold the children born in love to me — 
These lush, deep grasses where the flowerets play 

At hide and seek; this wide-embracing tree. 
Where birds may live their little, tuneful day. 
And golden harvests that are yet to be. 



54 



Ill 



Full many a dme fair April have I seen April 

Enwrapped in cloud of every lovely hue. 

With tears that fell as soft as morning dew 

On bloomy orchard and on fields of green; 
And watched her smilingly, her tears between. 

The balmy air with sun-born jewels strew. 

Till life and joy and song seemed born anew. 

To glorify with promise all the scene. 
These, and still more, O Master, hast thou caught 

Within the meshes of thy subtile art. 

That April there, with quickening beauties fraught. 
Might stir the languid waters of the heart. 

And make forever there all seasons hers 

To bid fulfilment crown the laboring years. 



55 



IV 



The Come with me into this all-quiet wood, 

■^ Where nought of hurry or of noise is known. 

Wood . . 

And where soft airs from every tree are blown. 

To fill the heart with Rest's untroubled good. 

Here we may lie on leaf-strown couch, and brood. 
While sweet Imagination binds her zone 
Around our vagrant thoughts, and stirs alone 
The silence of this lovely solitude. 

Thou precious Art ! be always thus, so we 
May compass something of thy priceless lore: 
Thy deeper truths shall set the spirit free. 

When soulless imitation rules no more. 
And where, as here, thy joyous liberty 
Gives birth to beauty never seen before. 



56 



To-day the soaring mount is not for me The 

Though it should marshal all its loveliest mass, ^ "^ 

Or though across my tempted vision pass 

Its utmost witchery of rock and tree ; 
For this lush meadow holds my heart in fee. 

Where clouds lie sleeping in its pool's clear glass. 

And where in comradeship with flower and grass 

No other friend than Reverie shall be. 
The Mountain trumpets with imperious voice. 

And great Ambition sits enthroned there 

With spoils that blaze in fever-laden air ; 
But thou, sweet Meadow, bidst the soul rejoice 

In love of lowly and familiar things. 

And lead'st to peace's cooling, crystal springs. 



57 



VI 



The With moss-grown, interlocking arms that wear 

A beauty strangely true, these gnarled trees 
Wood y B ^ > B 

Rule o'er this weird demesne, where mysteries 
Seem lurking nigh in many an eerie lair. 

Silence has closed the lips of every air. 

Till hushfiil Rest, as though on drowsy seas. 
Floats dreaming, safe from all disease 
Of vain ambition or of mad despair. 

To some such spot as this lone Dante might 
Have brought the travail of his towering soul. 
When exile's grief had made it joy to die ; 

And here Imagination, love-bedight. 
Will over us its waves enchanted roll. 
As near this naiad-haunted pool we lie. 



58 



VII 



The mild, alluring Night has had her time. Dawn 

For now the Sun on his resistless way 
Beats down with mighty hand her vast array. 
And grandly up the heavens begins to climb. 

These pulsing clouds announce the King sublime j 
Yet not with banner blazed with ruby ray. 
But one whose opal light of lustrous gray 
Wakes Dawn's sweet bells to silver-sounding chime. 

The birds have scarce aroused, yet man is here. 
To lay the dewy grass beneath his knife 
And bear it off upon the waiting wain. 

Thou wondrous New-born Day; what hope, what fear. 
Lie coiled within thy breast ; what peace, what strife. 
And what ambitions that are worse than vain ! 



59 



VIII 



At The Sun that raged victorious through the day, 

* Like conquering monarch scornful of defeat. 

Time 

Behind the hills in unrestrained retreat 

With pauseless haste now speeds upon his way. 

He conquers still : these clouds proclaim his sway. 
That lace refulgently the lucent blue. 
And this lone-wandering moon with crescent new 
Begins to glow with his reflected ray. 

The grasses tanned by summer's breath, the trees. 
The distant crag a battlement that seems. 
Lie in the arms of silence and of rest. 

The feverous day is done ; night's galaxies 

Hold yet aloof; in this mid-time what dreams 
May hover o'er us that shall make us blest ! 



60 



IX 



In centre of the canvas see this pine The 

All stark in death, with arms in vain appeal nceasing 

Round 
For what it nevermore can taste or feel 

Of joys of earth or of the heavens divine. 
Straight as in life it stands, still bearing sign 

Of noble majesty and dauntless will ; 

While at its base its elder brothers spill 

Their ashes where the grasses kiss and twine. 
A glorious redwood centuries have blessed 

Uptowers, while with bliss of life possessed 

The forest sings in grand, harmonious tone. 
And careless men pass by — the children they 

Of other children death has made his own. 

And who like them will strive and pass away. 



6i 



X 



The The year is on the edge of death ; for see, 

•^ * These dreary branches have already shed 

Year 

Such myriad leaves, they lie in mounds of dead 

At foot of each sad-hearted parent tree. 

Yet, grim and stern as human soul might be. 
The scarred, gray sycamores with defiant head 
Like warriors stand, while in its shrunken bed 
The languid stream flows on resignedly. 

Life is aweary and in quiet here 

Would rest awhile her fever-haunted brain. 
As dreams she of the dear, departing year ; 

And Melancholy, led by Memory's train. 
With velvet step will gently come anear. 
To dew the ground with sacramental tear. 



62 



XI 



Behold : dark, lead-like clouds made beautiful 
With various forms of fantasy, where light 
Breaks through their lowermost edge with forceful 

might. 
As if in challenge of their right to rule ; 

Two birds that fly above a sleeping pool 
Wherein a woman peers with aching sight. 
While tree and grass, in mystic garment dight. 
Rest in the silence of a dreamful lull. 

O Woman ! tell me what thou findest here 
In light and dark, in water, bird and tree. 
In all these grasses and their mystery. 

O Man ! I am as thou : for could I peer 

Till Time made peace with Death, as now I do. 
No ray would show me the unraveling clew. 



The 

Fruitless 

^est 



63 



XII 



Promise The shower has ceased, yet big with coming rain 

The light-fringed clouds loom o'er the gladsome hillsj 
While all the sunbeam-glinted valley thrills 
With expectation of its harvest grain. 

This fresh, sweet soil but just upturned is fain 
Its seed to press ; the orchard blossom spills 
Its fragrance round ; and rising incense fills 
The air to gratitude's symphonic strain. 

O Earth, dear, bounteous mother of us all. 
From thee we come, and at the last we fall 
Into thy softly folding arms to rest ; 

And as the Master spreads thy beauties here. 
We seem to lie serenely on thy breast. 
With Promise gently soothing every fear. 



64 



In Humble Praise 



" He, above the rest 
In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
Stood like a tower." 

Paradise Lost, Book I, line 589. 

"The Poet is the only potentate ; 

His sceptre reaches o'er remotest zones ; 

His thought remembered and his golden tones 
Shall, in the ears of nations uncreate, 

Roll on for ages and reverberate 

When Kings are dust beside forgotten thrones." 

Sestet of " The So-vereigns." — Lloyd Mifflin. 

How glow they evermore, serenely bright, 

These star-eyed ones — the immortal So.is of Light 1 



TO SHAKESPEARE 

JUNE, 1898. 

" As Carlyle said, we are all subjects of King Sliakespeare, As long as 
the Americans acknowledge that allegiance, and in truth none could be more 
loyal, there can be no doubt as to their Englishry." 

The Sfectator, April JO, l8gS 

Why add superfluous, piping note of mine 

To those which for these now three hundred years 
Have sung thy name, that in transplendence rears 
Itself above the mightiest of thy line? 

Why should I not, like nun before a shrine. 
Midst adoration's more than grateful tears. 
Let silence speak,* until the rapt soul hears 
The distant music of the shores divine? 

Because in this tremendous time of throes. 

When all the lands are bowed with many woes. 
We joy to feel old England's hand in ours ; 

And so to-day, beyond imagining. 

We kneel, as thrilled with newly-wakened powers. 
Before thee — England's and our Country's King. 

*" The holy time is quiet as a Nun 

Breathless with adoration." — Wordsworth. 



67 



TO MILTON 



Thou star-crowned, peerless Milton, thine to know 
The moans and thunders of the surging seas. 
The tinkling laugh of rippling rills, the trees* 
Soft murmurs multidudinous ; and so 

To make thy numbers with their music flow 
In such deep roll of cadenced harmonies. 
Such rythmic trip ot honeyed melodies. 
That round the world forevermore they go. 

Thy thoughts were high as heaven, as deep as hell. 
Strong as the truth, as sweet as liberty. 
And pure as thine own song of chastity. 

Thou gavest England, when she needed well 
Her kingliest and her best, one rarest man 
Who grandly blended Greek with Puritan. 



68 



TO GOETHE 

God built thee on the noblest plan. 
Thou universal, matchless man ! 
No life there was thou couldst not feel. 
Nor learning thou didst not acquire. 
And these thine art did so anneal 
They glow as with divinest fire. 
Thy serious soul surveyed the all. 
Contemning not what seemed the small. 
Nor lost in mazes of the vast ; 
While all thy years thou wisely wast 
The conqueror of thyself, who could 
Dispart the evil from the good. 
And calmly sit above the show 
Of froth and fume that raged below. 
Thou sat' St on an imperial throne. 
Making all forms of life thine own — 
A mighty, intellectual force. 
Appointing man his proper course. 
Thy piercing vision saw the springs 
That lie within the heart of things. 



69 



To And thy enthralling voice shall sound 
" Its notes to earth's remotest bound. 

To lift mankind on eagle's wings 
To where sweet Peace in triumph sings. 



TO MATTHEW ARNOLD 

Clear-sighted and clear-thoughted, thou ; 
Dogmatic, as we must allow ; 
But temperate alway and sincere. 
And void of bias as of fear. 

So limpid thy prosaic flow. 
We could with thee forever go. 
To catch the rich and rare delight 
Of seeing clearness joined to might. 

And with thy verse we breathe an air 
The very Gods would wish to share. 
Where passion linked with beauty glows 
Mid restful calms of great repose. 



70 



ROBERT BROWNING 



Here was a Titan : — one whose teeming thought 
In unfamiliar channels, broad and deep. 
Rolled on with seeming superhuman sweep ; 
One who, by learning as by nature taught. 

In every mine of human passion wrought 

With such exhaustless power, such piercing ken. 

Such boundless sympathy, as poet's pen. 

Save his and matchless Shakespeare's, never caught. 

One who met truth with never flinching gaze. 
As on he walked with Muse for loving guide ; 
Who kept his road, despite of blame or praise. 

In fiercest scorn of intellectual pride ; 

And who, at close of his unrivalled days. 

Sleeps, where 'tis meet he should, by Chaucer's side. 



71 



TO BALZAC, 

ON READING HIS MEMOIR BY 

MISS WORMELEY 

Until I knew the story of thy years. 
It did not seem titanic power like thine 
Could have been found in merely human mine. 
Or could have mingled with life's hopes and fears ; 

For thy great spirit so sublime appears 
Among the kindred fellows of thy line. 
That all the Nine would hail thee as divine. 
And Atropos for once distrust her shears. 

'Tis so set down, yet strange I feel it still. 
That thou wast not the demi-god I deemed. 
But anxious toiler for thy daily bread ; 

Thy bosom racked with many a torturing ill ; 

And who, like others, when thy dreams were dreamed. 
Saw Death's dark angel cloud thy helpless head. 



72 



TO JOSE-MARIA DE HEREDIA 



'Twas eagle-winged, imperial Pindar who 
Sent down the ages on the tide of song 
The thought that only to the years belong 
Those deeds that win immortal poet's due. 

Still rise his crowned athletes to the view. 
On his unwearied pinions borne along ; 
Still shepherd's pipe and lay sound sweet and strong 
As when Theocritus attuned them true. 

And so through thee the feats of heroes great, 
The hues of life of other times than ours, 
With such refulgence in thy sonnets glow. 

That in the splendor of their new estate. 

They there, with deathless Art's supernal powers. 
Shall o'er the centuries enchantments throw. 



73 



TO CARLYLE 

Thou strangest one of lettered men. 
Whose scathing tongue and piercing pen 
No mercy had for vain pretense. 
Thou mov'st us less with love than awe ; 
Yet no one could before thee draw 
Without enlargement of his sense ; 
Without sensations such as ne'er 
Before had stirred his spirit's air; 
Without conviction, too, that here 
Was one who dared to be sincere — 
A stern, unflinching soul, whose blow 
Spared neither self, nor friend, nor foe. 
A Prophet, thou, who scrov'st to teach 
The deepest truths mankind can reach ; 
^^'ho knew not what it was to try 
To compromise with any lie, 
Whate'er might threaten or beseech ; 
And whose unwonted, thunderous speech 
Will furnish man with generous store 
Till Earth and Time shall be no more. 



74 



ON LOOKING AT WORDSWORTH'S 

ENGRAVED PICTURE IN THE CENTEN- 

ARY EDITION OF HIS POEMS 

Immortal Wordsworth, as thy pictured face. 
With all its placid calm, its brow serene. 
Its mild, benignant majesty of mien. 
Moves me to-day as with unwonted grace, 

I fain would yield, if only for a space. 
My soul to thee completely, and so clean 
My thoughts of all impurities terrene. 
That they with thine might dare to interlace. 

Thou glorious singer of soul-quickening song ; 
Thou nature's child to being's very core ; 
Simple in all thy ways, yet bold and strong; 

One that to loftiest mountain-top could soar 
With sweeping wing, and lightly skim along. 
No less at ease, the valley's daisied floor. 



75 



TO BYRON 



Byron, volcanic soul, whose crater's fire 

Gushed without pause in heart-consuming pain. 
The world still owns the brilliance of thv reign, 
And wreathes with amaranth that throbbing lyre. 

Where passion cries in unappeased desire. 
Where nature pulsates in her every vein. 
Where lofty thought evokes its loftiest strain. 
And scorn of cant is hot with scourging ire. 

As restless thou and ample as the sea 

That sported with thee as familiar friend ; 
Thy heart was open, and thy spirit free 

Beyond all human power to break or bend ; 
Thv face was starward set, and Liberty 
Wept with mankind at thy untimely end. 



76 



TO KEATS 
I 

Dear Keats, forgive me that I cannot fly 
The sweet temptation of a verse to thee. 
Whose name, deep writ in brass, shall ever be 
Still deeper written as the years go by ; 

But looking in that tender, haunting eye 
Which Severn drew for men to fondly see. 
Thou dost to-day so radiant seem to me. 
That love extorts what prudence might deny. 

'Tis not alone the glories of thy song. 

Nor thy young death (at which mankind still weeps). 
That binds us closely to thee, but thy strong. 

Enduring steadfastness as well, which keeps 
The golden glories of thy precious name 
Secure within our hearts a vestal fiame. 



11 



II 



To Thou art, indeed, of all the poet race 

The Muses' most immediate, darling child ; 
They kissed thee at thy birth and fondly smiled. 
Foreseeing what thy splendors would embrace : 

Enchantments man would never cease to chase. 
And catch and catch again, and be beguiled. 
Till filled with rapture he should be so isled 
Upon such sparkling sea of fiirv space. 

Thou clear-eved soul ! Thou miracle oi song ! 
Greek and Elizabethan met in thee ; 
Thv honeved lips all beauteous things did throng. 

Attuned to music's noblest ecstasy. 

Making thy world so ravishingly fair. 

That all the years shall rest delighted there. 



78 



TO TENNYSON 



As comes to all, so thou hast passed away 
To that unfathomable, dark beyond. 
Before whose mysteries thine enchanting wand 
Stirred soulful music to her deepest play ; 

And meet it was that when Death came, to lay 
His icy finger on that dreamful brain. 
Thy soul should yearn for Shakespeare's choric strain 
To fill the moments of thy parting day. 

Thou deftest master of poetic art. 

Whose verse is tinct with noble dignity. 
And makes of England an immortal part ! 

Familiar things are glorified by thee. 

While dullest blood leaps lightly through the heart 
At thy immatchless song of chivalry. 



79 



TENNYSON'S GOOD FORTUNE 



Of all the poets never yet was one 

More blest by fortune than was Tennyson : 

For half a century his pen so swayed 

The realm of Poesy that all obeyed. 

And owned he gave such jeweled song-words birth 

As could not well be matched upon the earth. 

His country held him closely to her breast 

As one in whom she was uniquely blest. 

While wife, and friends, and children, all were his. 

And spoils of wealth and noble dignities. 

He dreamed his dreams in quietude apart. 

His every passion centring in his art. 

And from his garden's uninvaded shade 

In calm contentment all the world surveyed. 

Keeping his powers in such consummate bloom 

They never seemed to wither or to fade. 

And when had come the fateful hour of doom. 

Good fortune still was his : the moonbeams made 

Transfiguring beauty of his chamber's gloom ; 



80 



The Master's music lingered on his lips Tenmson\ 

The latest ere his spirit passed away. Good 

And sudden sunlight burst through cloud's eclipse 
In golden glory on his coffined clay. 



TO BURNS 

Thou wast of truest flesh and blood : 
Thy veins ran hot with passion's flood ; 
Thou knewest the stars — and miry mud- 

But all sincerely ; 
And so the world, as well it should. 

Loves thee most dearly. 

All nature's kin was kin of thine ; 
The earth for thee was all divine ; 
Nor neededst thou from Heaven a sign 

To love thy brothers. 
Nor wouldst thou measure with thy line 

The faults of others. 

'Tis true thy satire's lash did smite 
The tender spot of many a wight ; 

8i 



To But though thy blow was never light, 

■^^'■"^ It meant no evil ; 

Indeed, thou didst not do despite 
E'en to the Devil. 

And yet thy bosom nursed a hate 
For bigotry that would not bate ; 
For aught that bound thy fellow's fate 

To tyrant burdens. 
Or barred him from his just estate 

Of worthy guerdons. 

The lowliest ones that breathe the air 
Could catch thy thought and feel thy care. 
And nestling in thy heart find there 

Unselfish giver. 
Till winged with song their flight shall bear 

Still on forever. 

Thy artless strain, how rich and strong ! 

How full of all the joys of song ! 

How round the heart its children throng 

To leave us never ! 
How scornful of the meanly wrong. 

Yet loving ever ! 

82 



Why should we note thy fitful years, J_'o 

Remorseful pangs, repentant tears. Burns 

Or sigh that Fate had used her shears 

Untimely on thee ? 
'Tis nought, when blessed Love appears 

Fore'er to crown thee. 

TO WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 

Landor, thou art, in truth, the one unique : 
A Briton, yet a Roman and a Greek, 
And still no less Italian ; in all time 
Breathing ambrosial airs of every clime ; 
Who all the spoils of all the ages stored. 
And drew such honey from thy heaping hoard. 
That we who read thee pause and pause again 
In wonder at the marvels of thy pen. 
A lettered Titan, thou, so greatly great. 
Thou sittest throned in high imperial state. 
Like some immortal God that keeps his place 
In lonely grandeur of unconquered space. 
With none so venturesome as dare dispute 
His rule as being less than absolute. 

83 



TO GOLDSMITH 

Dear Goldsmith, how we dwell and gloat 
Upon thy clear and liquid note. 
And with thy Vicar talk until 
Sweet Resignation leads the will. 
Thy Traveller still pursues his way ; 
Thy Village glows in its decay 
More lovely now than when it first 
Upon the world of letters burst ; 
Thy Citizen still makes us hear ; 
Thy Bee still buzzes in our ear ; 
Still does thy conquering Lady show 
The self-same charms of long ago ; 
While Garrick and Sir Joshua stand 
Forever painted by thy hand. 

Who could have thought, of all the set 
With Johnson at the Turk's-head met. 
That thou shouldst be the one bright star 
Whose light eclipse should never bar ; 
That thy beloved name should trail 
The rest behind thee like a tail ? 



84 



TO CHARLES LAMB 



'Tis three score years, dear Lamb, since thou 

Tasted the bitter and the sweet of death. 

But Love thy name hath nurtured so, that now. 

As ne'er before, it greenly flourisheth. 

Thou hadst sincerity without a flaw. 

And lovedst all so deeply and so true. 

Thou to the beggar and the sweep couldst draw. 

And see their hearts their rags and tatters through. 

Thou hadst no theories for wayward man. 

Nor sought to teach some lesson to thy kind. 

But livedst patiently thy little span. 

To hopeless ills courageously resigned. 

Thy writings leave us debtors evermore. 

But what thou wast makes still the richer store. 



85 



TO SWINBURNE ON HIS DRAMA 



If highest taste some Songs of thine would blot. 

Thy Drama raises its Olympian head 

Above our wonder. — All divinely fed 

With the ambrosia of enkindling thought 
And soul-enthralling music, and inwrought 

With rarest beads of color-laden phrase. 

It grandly moves in such heroic ways 

As scarce one modern, saving thee, has sought. 
Here Scotland's Mary winds through her career. 

Her dainty fingers dipped in every crime ; 

Here Knox, the dauntless, shakes his priestly spear; 
Here Bothwell schemes, the Satan of his time. 

And here antiquity has been rewon 

Through Atalanta's chase in Calydon. 



86 



ON LOOKING INTO THE POEMS OF 
WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY 

What sweep of wing ! — what moving power ! — 
What strange, inevitable things 
That menacingly loom and lower. 
Bodeful and big with doom ! 

No puny morbidness here broods. 
But thoughts and words of giant form 
That stride across the vastitudes 
In color-glinted gloom. 

He holds us fast, and binds the will 
So closely round our inmost thought. 
We feel an unaccustomed thrill 
To ecstasy akin. 

The Hospital its story sings 
Through every gamut of the strain. 
And London, gloomed and glorious, brings 
Her terror and her sin. 

All nature throbs with strange desire. 
While themes deemed barren or outworn 



87 



iniliarr Burst from his music-haunted lyre 

Ernest ^n blooms of kingliest line. 

Henley 

Too lurid, lacking sober rest. 
Some critic cries — and let him cry ; 
For here are gems, with beauty blest. 
From Art's eternal mine. 



TO RUSKIN 

WRITTEN IN "ARROWS OF THE CHACE. 

Thou noble one, thy mind and heart 
We reverence more the more we scan. 

The more we see thv love for Art 

Moves hand in hand with love for Man. 

TO WILLIAM BLAKE 

Thou strange, rare one, with spirit free. 
What glorious visions didst thou see ; 
How teach us that the truest Real 
Is that contained in the Ideal. 



88 



CHRISTOPHER SMART 

Smart was the marvel of his sapless time : 
To scribble reams of empty, futile rhyme. 
Then in a phrensy of poetic art — 
Crazed in his brain and saddened in his heart- 
To pour his soul into one mighty song. 
Where sparkling jewels do so thickly throng. 
And blaze with such imaginative light. 
That every year shall gladden in their sight — 
A deathless song with nature's ruin bought ; 
No wonder his own century knew him not ! 



TO WILLIAM WATSON 

Thou dost the verses of thy brethren praise 
In rarest nicety of tuneful phrase. 
But who, all gladdened with Parnassian wine. 
Will sing the crystal purity of thine? 



89 



TO JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 

AUGUST 12, I 89 1. 

Lowell, thou art not dead ; thou canst not die 
Till Letters' children all shall cease to be ; 
Till dawns the day (but who such day mav see?) 
When Art's innumerous crystal springs run dry ; 

When Fancy slums no more the meads that lie 
In fadeless bloom, and doomed by death's decree 
Imagination's mighty majesty. 
Till then, O glorious soul, thou shalt not die. 

Thou art the perfectest of all the flowers 

That yet have blossomed on New England's soil — 
Blending great character with stintless powers. 

And making every literature thy spoil ; 
While all thy years thy jewel-crusted pen 
Sent thrilling message to the hearts of men. 



90 



AFTER AN EVENING WITH LONGFELLOW 



Could I but mount with something of thine ease. 
And lightly wing the empyreal air 
The muses breathe, I would not now despair 
To rise in praise of thee on lines Hke these ;— 

Now, when thy dulcet, fine felicities 
All freshly lie upon my soul, and wear 
A bloom so richly, beautifully fair. 
They mock expression's subtlest alchemies. 

No deliration ever mars thy strain. 

No puling, weak complaining nor lament. 
Nor hobbling verse that roughly drags along ; 

But borne on waves of music, sweetly sane. 
Serenely passioned, suavely eloquent. 
It glows with witching art of noble song. 



91 



ON THE LYRICS OF THOMAS BAILEY 
ALDRICH 

Dainty as daintiest thing 

In man's imagining 

Of words that faultless fit 

Their fabric exquisite ; 

With beauty such as rose 

In happiest moment knows ; 

Attuned to melody's 

Supremest ecstasies ; 
These gemlike lyrics live through flawless art. 
To please the senses and to stir the heart. 



POPE 

The choicest vintage of ambrosial wine 

He knew not, nor the harmonies divine ; 

But who has matched, or who shall hope to match. 

The wit and sparkle of his rapier line ? 



92 



TO WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 

Thou wast of those who lived with noble things 
From very birth, until, weighed down with years. 
Death sealed thine eyes, whilst all thy country stood 
Uncovered round thy venerated clay. 
'Twas thine to show how clean the Press could be. 
And how courageous ; thine to clearly point 
The paths thy countrymen might safely tread. 
And what they ought in honor to acclaim ; 
And thine, in combat for a purer tongue. 
To bid thine own example lead the way 
in very panoply of chastest mail. 
The gift of song was thine ; and in thy great 
Miltonic cadences the mighty heart 
Of nature beats, anon with joy serene. 
Anon with melancholy sad as leaves 
By Autumn kissed, but alway with a hope 
That sings its music to the darkest hour. 
With thee we lose ourselves within the wood. 
And make the tree our brother ; every plant. 
That spreads its modest beauties to the sun. 
Or nestles in the shade, is then our kin, 
93 



TV And \vc with them on nature's kindlv brcASt 

In siliMK-c hcMrkcn to the voiee divine. 
CuUtn 
» , The Rowers ot" the tieUi were thy vic;ir t'ricnds, 

NN ho s{\ike their mess;>v:e to thee as to one 

Thcv trustevi ; and in swelling, golden note 

Ot" sounding rhvthni thou gavest it to us 

To keep enshrined in love's own treasury. 

All things that walk or Hy could set thv soul 

To harmonv. as did the waterfowl 

Which caught thine eve, when in the vast 

Ot space's unimaginable waste 

Alone, vet confident, it took its wav, 

Anvl where, through thee, transtigurcd and sublime. 

It beats t'orever an unwearied wing. 



94 



He w;<ll(':'l l)':fi':;)lli tli': ravrri'n winj^ 
A waywyrd r liil'l in Iij4it)f;';'i ;^loorri, 

Ah'I tlicrc Ilia traric.inj^ Ron^;<) did iiinj^ 
And wrav; lii'i fiamiiiii)^ tal'!'i of doom. 

Uf: drank from Beauty's lioiiey-rtip, 
IVc'/icd to liiji eajjer lipH by Arf, 

Until lif:r ricMar iwallowcd up 
'I'Ik: very hul)Htancc of liis heart. 

Ujjon lier linei lii.'i sfructurcH l^rnw, 
III form rnorit cunningly dc'iij^^ned, 

Wliile demonri tfiat lie nurtured slew 
'J he [jeat e and sweelncfts of his mind. 

With liopeleftB sijdis antj hitter tears 
He fill<:d hi'i had, remorseful hours, 

Yet reared the while, for all the years. 
His bcauty-crowncd, enchanted towers. 



95 



TO LLOYD MIFFUN 

AFTER READING ** AT THE GATES OF SONG." 

Borne on thy sonnet-feathered wings I flv 
To strange, vast realms immeasurable where 
Imagination breeds her children fair. 
That wake, with singing. Thought's remotest sky. 

Then down to earth thou bring'st me, and I lie 
So sweetly close to every human care. 
And breathe the joys of such ambrosial air. 
That Love's seraphic host seems hovering nigh. 

Where'er thou bearest me all beauties bide 

With Art and Passion linked, while music rolls 
In cadenced billows on the spirit's shore. 

O Poet by the Susquehanna's side. 

Take thou this heart-wrought song and all my soul's 
Most faithful homage till my days are o'er. 



96 



WRITTEN IN LLOYD MIFFLIN'S 
"THE SLOPES OF HELICON" 

APRIL 14, 1898. 

Thou alien one, O War, whose notes prelude 
Full many a grievous woe to haughty Spain, 
Nor less, mayhap, to us, let not their bane 
On this glad day upon mine ear obtrude j 

And thou familiar one, O Law, endued 

With that which should make battle's havoc vain. 
Must now release me from thy stress and strain. 
And leave my spirit to its solitude. 

For now have come to me the lyric songs 

Of him whose numbers with impassioned might 
In beauty flow mcllifluously on ; 

And hence this golden day to him belongs. 
On which he shall, with soul-illuming light, 
Lead me along the Slopes of Helicon. 



91 



TO WHirriF.R 

I 

Somo verse there is JeiUh cdiinoc toiu-h although 
It nuy Uv>c nest upon the lottiest height. 
To sprcAvl its pinions in untiring flight 
\N'l\erc cvinstcllations in respleuvieuv-e glow ; 

Nor \ et b\ Fanov fondly tcllowevl know 
Her tairy realms of exquisite delight ; 
Nor with Imagination's stopless might 
Range the vast regions of our hliss and woe ; — 

For it hath cradled in the human breast 

Feelings and thoughts with which we would not part ; 
And hath in loving, saving strength possessed 

The power to move the uni\-ersal heart. 
And so will K- by all the muses blest 
As long as jovs shall sing, or tears shall start. 



98 



II 



Suf.h verse, O Wfiirtier, tliy rrniw ':ini>]')yt : 7tf 

For thou flo^jt nioj^ in unafTcctcd lay frhittier 

Of maidcDH fair, of rhildJioo'l'!-, j^loriou'^ 'lay, 

Of natural tliin;;". unrnix':') with tja".': nWoyn ; 
Do'it rniiif fli': {^oM whi'.fi lie'; in homely joys, 

AikI jy:n(ly inov'v.t in suf.fi f on'mrnniate way 

'I'hc human heartstrings to liarmonious f^lay. 

That restfiil rnusif: Hrowns the world's rnafl noi«c. 
New J'.nj^lan'l live.'i in tfiy flelightrul line : 

'I'fiere do fier fiouKclioId hearths our love eonntrain ; 

'Jhcrc do her tales witli newer beauty shine, 
Ifer field';, her wood-;, lier skies, lier stormy main; 

While over all the Power we feel divine 

Upholds eternal, universal reign. 



99 



TO A SOILED AND BROKEN VOLUME OF 
BAYARD TAYLOR'S POEMS 

Come, lovely waif, to my embrace ; 
With gentlest touch I shall erase 
All soilure from thy pretty face. 
Shall tear away the faded dress 
That mars thy pristine loveliness. 
And bid the binder clothe anew 
Thy beauteous form, and there bestrew. 
With hand by loving taste controlled. 
His daintiest flowers of gleaming gold. 
Then shall I gladly house thee where 
The best of all thy kinsmen fare. 
And who will give thee welcome room 
Within the precints of their home, 
And where thine author e'en would say 
Thou hadst at last not gone astray. 
There shalt thou have such tender care 
The bitter past will be forgot ; 
And oft to thee shall I repair. 
To thrill beneath thy glowing thought ; 
To follow thee at leisure times 



For art-grown pearls in distant climes ; 
To have the sluggish feelings stirred 
By many a music-singing word. 
And mount with thee on lyric wings 
Above the touch of sordid things. 
Ah, then how happy shall I be. 
At thought of having rescued thee ! 



To a 
Soiled and 

Broken 

Volume of 

Bayard 

Taylor' s 

Poems 



TO FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 

Thy verse, dear Halleck, hath such flowing ease. 
And sparkles with such rare felicities ; 
So much of it is nourished with a blood 
That flows from sources of perennial good ; 
We cannot still but wonder more and more 
Thou shouldst have doled us such a stinted store ; 
But every soul forgives thee when it turns 
To read, for hundredth time, thy song to Burns. 



loi 



TO WAl.r WHITMAN 



Thou roughest-hewn of all the poot kind ! — 
Not thine to tinkle rhvme's melodious bell. 
Nor set to music ot' harmonious swell 
The thoughts that surged within thv shoreless iniud ; 

Not these could Art to lightest durance bind. 
Nor sensuous Beauty with her deepest spell 
Entice them in her tair demesne to dwell : 
But tormless, ruleless thev, as uncontined. 

Yet, giant soul, thy loud-resounding lyre, 

^^'hose tones the wondering world still leans to hear. 
Thrills every spirit that would dare to be 

Inflamed with that unique, immortal tire. 

That made thee what thou wast — the grandest seer 
And noblest poet of Democracy. 



Tf; (.K()R(.V. FRKDJ^RICK WATTS, R. A. 

ON' HIS hlOH'IIKTM i'.lRTHDAY 

iUiRUARY 23, ly.'jy. 

No worthier, nobler name, great Watts, than thine 
Has Art cnDblazoncd on her golden scroll ; 
Nor has old England gendered truer soul 
or all the wonders of her wondrous line : 

For thou hast borne witli marvellous strength the sign 
or iicauty'-i chastity to higJict goal. 
Unheeding largess of applause or dole. 
Nor taking thought in worldly ways to shine. 

And all the while Imagination's hand 

Has led thee to tlie unclouded summits, where 
For souls like thine all high ideals await — 

Those radiant ones that spurn each base demand 
Of fad or falseness, and in Truth's pure air 
Teach what it means to be supremely great. 



103 



In Tribute 



*' I caniu)t love thrp us I o\i)'ht, 
Ki>r love irtlrit* the thing lirloxcil} 
M\ \\i>iils air oi\ly wonia, and mnvnl 

llpiMi llir t.>|.iiuisr troth lit' tlu>it|;lil." 

/'I M. ■',.-,.„■,. 

'l\illrs tli.it (;liltric>l in iilin tion'a sun, 

'I'lirn p,is»r>i like niiirninj; ilf« , 
Auil wliiih tiuim^;li rU»iiiri\iF ot love luvr won 

'I'lir iifjil li« liM- anrw. 



A. S. T. 

So deep li';r love, io wariri \\i:r }i';art, her touch 
So soft and gentle, and her voice so sweet. 
That when she sootlies my j;ain, then overmuch 
My life seems blest ; and thus serene, complete. 
By means of her, my soul ran never meet 
One danger that shall make it tower or retreat. 

TO PROFESSOR JACOB COOPER, J). D., 
D. C. L., OF RUTGERS COLLEGE, NEW 
JERSEY 

I have not seen the nohlcnc-'/i and grace 
That surely sit in glory on tliy face. 
For never has it l;cen rny joy to know 
Thy spoken word in golden, friendly flow ; 
But many a token have I had from thee 
So rarely sweet and beautiful to see, 
And have so gazed upon thy distant light. 
That in thy modesty's supreme despite 
J give thee homage in this verse of mine. 
And aigh to think I lack the Muse's might 
To make it thrill with all that is divine. 



107 



TO Dr. LEVI COOPER LANE ON THE 
OPENING OF LANE HOSPITAL 

JANUARY I, 1895. 
" Finis Corona: Oput.** 



Unconquerable soul, as fortunate 

As good and true, and worthy all the store 

That binds our hearts to thine still more and more. 

We bring thee loving homage on this great. 

Auspicious day, yet vainly strive to mate 
Our feelings w^ith the best of every lore. 
That bodied thus they might superbly soar 
On golden, wingbd words to Heaven's own gate. 

Here stands thy work, and shall forever stand 
As long as man mav know disease or pain. 
In flawless roundness of completion planned ; — 

What nobler monument of selfless gain ! 

In all that's precious, how supremely grand 
This wise creation of thy heart and brain ! 



108 



II 



Long years ago thy prescient soul made bold To 

To point to rich fruition such as this. 

Cooper 
And now thou drainest such a cup o'l bliss Lane 

As even thyself couldst scarce have hoped to hold ; 
But every purpose of thy hard-earned gold 

Has been accomplished ; nought has gone amiss, 

And all thy plans harmoniously kiss 

Here where thy name shall evermore be told. 
The starry heights have been sublimely won. 

And we who watched thee on thy toilsome way 

Are thrilled to see the splendor of thy sun 
Undimmed as yet by age, and fervent pray 

That as the years their future courses run. 

Their peace shall bless thee to thy latest day. 



109 



GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 



Death holds our Curtis now ; — no more that pen 
From which fell crystal drops of honeydew ; 
No more that spoken word, so strong and true. 
For sweet refreshment of the souls of men. 

Nor tongue, nor pen, will ever speak again 

This side of Heaven ; but Fame will fondly strew 
His grave with amaranth, and Love renew 
Her passion there to utmost of her ken ; 

For he was more than Letters' honored child. 
And more than lover of the artist race : 
His country held him as her noble son 

Who strove to make her parties undefiled. 
To lift their feet from out the filth of place. 
And set them where real victories might be won. 



I lo 



DAVID STARR JORDAN, 

PRESIDENT OF LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR 
UNIVERSITY 

Six feet and more his massive figure stands. 
With countenance sedate, yet frankly free. 
And with calm mien so masterful that we 
Could fear no cause committed to his hands. 

As one beloved by Science he commands 
Her largesses, and bids them bodied be 
In closely-woven speech wherein we see 
Inweaved all great ideals' bright golden strands. 

Sincere, courageous, never less than bold 
In scorn of weakness and of compromise. 
He keeps straight on to where his duty lies ; 

In body, mind and soul so big of mould. 

That when the most o[ him is thought or told. 
He seems beyond us still to higher rise. 



Ill 



TO WILLIAM KLllU 



O Master, it" such halting verse ;is mine 
Can tor a tnomcnt stay thy nugio brush. 
Then let. niiJ th;»nktuhKss' religious Ixush, 
Mv grateful tribute ti»ll on oar ot" thine. 

Our triendship's ycirs have stretched a hallowed line 
Since tirst 1 knew the children of thv Art, 
And now, with wider thought and warmer heart, 
1 come my laurel round thv name to twine. 

Would that mv rhyme could run as does this stream 
\\'hich on thv canvas breaks in rapturc>us song 
Where Spring, triumphant, bursts trom every clod ! 

Then would be reali.'ed mv vain, t'ond dream : 
To sing one bar that niight amidst the throng 
Ot" countless voices rise trom earth to Ciod. 



ON READING THE POSTHUMOUSJ.y I'tJB- 

lA'AiiA) VOLUMh OF 'iJMO'iil/ if. 
J'I-,AIM;KN 

'Tis (Strange to think / should have held hi* hand, — 
Full many a time all warmly cla*pcd in mine, — 
Afj'l ;i':'',T v/a« con*ciou« that he bore the sign 
Of thofcc who torifjijcr by divine command. 

And 7)07/ hc'ft gone, how 7/';ll we undcTfctand ; 
How jdoat upon the once unnoted line ; 
Ho// n';v/ly bright his gern* of beauty thin«. 
At born to live in Art's enchanted land. 

The Muses loved him, but the cruel Fates 
Held his high hopes in many a sad eclipse. 
And led his feet where guerdon could not be ; 

But at the last, ifcavcn opened wide its gates 
To light hirn, and with song upon his lips 
He hailed the glory of the eternal sea.-*^ 

• Hl» potm, " The lira! Tht t.ea t " v/is •» Wr.it a thort 
time before Lit deaub. 



"3 



TO MV FRIEND \V. U. 1'. 



Friend ot" my struggling years, when friend was none, 
S«ve only thou, to set mv wavering feet 
On paths where effort and reward should meet ; 
\N hose blood and mine have mingled into one 

Through fruitful marriage; — ere thv westering sun 
Shall sink one second lower, let mv verse 
Thy merit and mv gratitude rehearse. 
And so live there when both our davs are done: 

In counsel wise, with scorn o( useless speech. 
Tenacious to the last, yet just to each. 
And modest ever, this, and more, thou art ; 

While never man was born who starred his way 
\\'ith more unselfish deeds tVom dav to dav. 
Or nursed his feelings in a tenderer heart. 



114 



HENRY GEORGE 



He, like some prophet in the days of old. 
Took every weary heart into his own. 
And sought assuagement of the dreadful moan 
Forever rising and by nought controlled. 

Against the giant wrongs whose coils enfold 

The myriad souls that starve, and freeze, and groan, 
His flaming message flew as if 'twere blown 
By all the woes that earth has ever told. 

His love was man's until his latest day. 

When, battling 'gainst corruption's foul array. 
He fell, to flood with glory all the scene. 

Alas ! Alas ! the world has lost him now ; 
But men will look to it that on his brow 
The laurel keeps imperishably green. 



115 



TO ANDREE'S CARRIER PIGEON 

IN THE ARCTIC OCEAN, 80° 44' NORTH, 20" 20^ EAST 
JULY 16, 1S97. 

No voice but chine, O ill-requitcd bird. 

Has come to tell of mightv-souled Andree, 

Since that uniquelv memorable day 

His pohir voyaging the whole world stirred ; 

And as on shehering mast — thy flight deterred 
By cold and weariness — thv body lav. 
Wrapped in the dreams ot" home-cote tar awav, 
Man gave thee death tor thy recorded word. 

Thy master sailed into the depths unknown 
Along the paths no human wing had beat. 
And tell with trozen plume, no more to rise ; 

And twinned with thee ve both, as glory's own. 
Have added, with transplendency complete. 
New Borealis to the Arctic skies. 



116 



TO C. S. K. 

And so you're back from London town. 
From Paris and from Florence ; 

You've seen Italia's lovely plains. 
And Alpine peaks and torrents ; 

You've gloated over gems of art 

In many an olden city ; 
The Louvre and Luxembourg have w^alked, 

Uffizi and the Pitti ; 

You've racked your brain to find what's in 

Libraries and museums. 
And various music heard, from pipe 

Of shepherd to Te Deums. 

You've breathed the classic air of Greece 

That all mankind inspires. 
And thrilled before the Parthenon's 

Unquenched, immortal fires. 

And watched the witching moonlight kiss 

Each rent and mutilation. 
Till all her columns seemed to rise 

In glad rejuvenation. 



To And once again her sculptured host 

C S K 

' ' ' In joyousness possessed her. 

While great Athene shone as when 
The art of Phidias blessed her. 

You've trod the streets which Plato trod,- 
In silent, dreaming wonder. 

And climbed Hymettus where the bees 
The nectared blooms still plunder ; 

Thermopylre has felt vour step. 
And Marathon and Platasa, 

Where Asia's fall made sure for us 
The priceless Greek idea ; 

And Salamis was vours to see. 
With all its memories glowing : — 

The Persian monarch throned in state. 
To watch the battle's flowing ; 

Themistocles' heroic form 
Above his fellows towering. 

The wives and children on the height 
In fear and wailing cowering ; 



ii8 



The Asian host on Attic's shore To 

The victory bespeaking ; 
The writhing ships, the valorous deeds. 

The sea with slaughter reeking. 

Until the evening sun looked down 

On Persia wrecked and flying. 
While Greece in glory flamed along 

New-splendored and undying. 

Over the hills of mighty Rome 

And through her ways you've wandered. 
And o'er her everlasting mark 

On history's page have pondered ; 

You've mused where Caracalla's baths 

Upon the ground lie sprawling. 
Until Rome's grandeur and her shame 

From out the past were calling ; 

You've stood where Titus sat, when he 

The Colosseum's wonder 
Opened with seas of blood that ran 

Below applause's thunder ; 



119 



To And where the Forum's columns stand 

C S K 

' ' ' In splendid ruination. 

You've conjured up the populace. 
The Tribune and oration ; 

You've bended o'er the fateful place 
Which Brutus made appalling. 

Until in fancy you could see 
The towering Julius falling ; 

You've roamed the Vatican where Art 

Her vigil still is keeping. 
And knelt upon the grave where Keats 

Immortally is sleeping ; 

You've read your Virgil mid the scenes 
Where sang the master classic. 

And viewed the farm where Horace versed 
'Tween sips of fragrant Massic ; 

You've followed Dante's dauntless steps 

In exile from his city. 
And Tasso's prison walls have felt 

The murmur of your pity. 



izo 



a s. K. 



You've gazed on Venice, sailed upon To 

Her marvellous streets aquatic. 
And lived the matchless scene when she 

Wedded the Adriatic ; 

And thought of all that far-gone time. 

When power was hers and glory. 
Till every age entranced has heard 

Recital of her story ; 

When Dandolo, the sightless Doge, 

Joined arms with the crusader. 
And far and near full many a land 

Submissively obeyed her ; 

When Tintoretto's brush was tinct 

With great imagination. 
And Titian's and Giorgione's glov/ed 

With gorgeous coloration ; 

And when Manuzio raised his press. 

And with his slanting letters 
Set fiee the Muses' royal line 

From manuscriptal fetters. 



121 



To Language you've mastered; bent your thought 

C S K 
' ' ' On problems of the nations. 

And pondered o'er the mystic past. 

With all its vast relations ; 

And more, and more ; but why recount 
When you are here before us. 

To let narration's gentle waves 
Delightfully roll o'er us ? 



YSAYE 

All leonine in look he stands. 

Serious, confident, serene. 
Whilst 'neath his supple, willowy hands 

His myriad-voiced violin 
Speaks to the soul, until the air 
Seems tremulous with praise and prayer. 



1 22 



TO BONZIG 

(see parts 11 AND IV OF ** THE MARTIAN " BY 
GEORGE DU MAURIEr") 

Thou honest soul, amidst the dry routine 

Where school-boys mocked thy mild severity. 
How thou didst feed thy hunger for the Sea 
By painting her thine eyes had never seen. 

And when thy years were turning from their green. 
Ecstatic thoughts of her still came to thee. 
As in thy garret on thy canvas she 
Glowed as with jewels from her great demesne. 

O rapturous day that makes thy heart run o'er ! 
The Baron calls thee to the ocean-shore. 
And says thou shalt be tutor to his son . . . 

Then as thou criest, — bliss in every breath, — 
"The Sea! the Sea! my best beloved one!" 
Thou plungest in her waves . . . and findest death. 



123 



PERPETUA 



My father, plead no more ; — wouldst have me wed 
Remorse in life, and then in flames to lie. 
When from the blood of Cesar's circus I 
Can leap to Heaven to be chapleted ? 

Has not our holy Saint Ignatius said 

God's wheat we are, that, for his purpose high 
And in his boundless love, should be ground by 
The teeth of wild beasts into Christ's pure bread? 

Then welcome the arena's glorious ruth ; 
I long to feel the lion's rending tooth 
Till all my body reeks with horrors fell. 

And yet, dear father, ere from thee I go. 
It touches me to think of that great woe 
Which will be thine eternally in Hell. 



124 



ARRIA 



"1 hear — and shake not — that thou art decreed 
By thine own hand to miserably die. 
Now when thy fortunes blossom and the eye 
Of fate beams bright as with prophetic meed ; 

And why shak'st thou in this thy spirit's need 
When Death and Caesar stand relentless by ? 
Arouse thy soul till thy defiant cry 
Proclaims once more our matchless Roman breed. "- 

** O wife, to close this day my book of years 
Is unimagined pain ; this waiting steel 
The horror's sum of horrors unto me." — 

** Give me the blade, that so thy griefs and fears 
May drown in mine own blood. I strike . . . 

and feel 
No hurt, my Paetus . . . now the point's for 
thee." 



125 



IN THE CONVENT GARDEN 

TO EDWIN STEVENS IN APPRECIATION OF HIS RENDERING 
OF THE CHARACTER OF CYRANO DE BERCERAC 

Steeped in autumnal dyes the mournful leaves 
V.'ith sad insistence flutter to the ground. 
And blend their voices with the vespers' sound, 
To soothe the heart that still for Christian grieves. 

Beneath the sighing trees her bosom heaves ; 

For memories throng, while he that in her bound 
Brings worldly word comes not — he whom, 

thorn-crowned. 
She still, as ever, blindly misconceives. 

At last all worn he comes with feeble breath. 
In whose sweet tenderness preluding death 
Throbs strangely new a note from love's past years: 

It tells that he, not Christian, won her kiss. 

That his, not Christian's, pen had fed her bliss. 
And that Remorse shall lill her cup with tears. 



126 



HARRO 

SCHLhSWIG-HOLSTKIN COAST, 
FhilKUARY, 1895. 

The waves leapt fierce and high 
Beneath cloud-blackened sky. 
And raging winds tore by 

The ship that staggered on. 
While blinding slcct fell there. 
From out the freezing air. 
Upon her bosom where 

Hope seemed forever gone. 

And now the seas dash o'er 
Her deck's defenseless floor. 
And more and ever more 

She gasps and pants for breath ; 
While, worn with weary strain, 
Her desperate men attain 
Her rigging, there to gain 

What seems but slower death. 

But hope now thrills their breast. 
For o'er the billows' crest 

127 



Harro The life-boat speeds, attest 

Of selfless souls that dare ; 
And every man finds place 
Within her crowded space 
Save one, whose helpless case 

Seems all beyond their care. 

Then Harro ran to meet 
The boat with flying feet, 
And cried, with joy complete, 

"All? All? Ye have saved all ? "- 
"All, Captain, all but one. 
And he so high had run 
Upon the mast, that none 

Was equal to the call." 

At this he smote his head. 
And with sad sternness said, 
"'Tis woe that those I've led 

Should fail in duty's hest ! . . . 
Now let but four agree 
To try yon wreck with me. 
And that lone wretch shall be 

With life divinely blest." 



"Comrade, in vain thy plea, Harro 

Too heavy runs the sea." 
**Then I alone," said he. 

Will venture on the deed." 
** Not so," upstarted four, 
*' If thou but lead, once more 
We'll through these billows bore. 

Despite all coward rede." 

*♦ Harro, my only boy. 
Do not all hope and joy 

Within my breast destroy," 

His tearful mother cried ; 
" The sea runs higher still. 
And great as is thy skill. 
And stout thy strength and will. 

It cannot be defied. 

" Our duty's charge by none 
More nobly has been done ; 
And as for that poor one 

So lonely left, he's gone ; 
'Tis sure we cannot know 
That he still lives, and so 

129 



Harro The truest might forego 

What thy fond wish is on. 

**Thou'rt all that's left to me: 
Thy brother Uwe, he 
Went from me, and the sea 

Most like has been his grave ; 
And thy dear sire doth sleep 
Entombed within the deep. 
Where hope had bade him reap 
The glory of the brave. 

**I cannot let thee go; 

The ocean is our foe. 

And these mad breakers throw 

Fresh terror on the strand." 
** But what of him out there. 
Abandoned to despair ? 
Has he no mother's care?" 

Asked Harro oar in hand. 

Again she pleading cried : 

" Give o'er thy spirit's pride. 

Come to my lonely side. 

Nor perish in the storm." 

I 30 



In vain ; — the four and he, Harro 

With sturdy arm and free. 
Sent through the seething sea 

The life-boat's glorious form. 

They conquered wave and blast, 
And safely clutched at last 
The mast where still clung fast 

The wretch about to die ; 
When Harro then straightway 
Clomb, without pause or stay, 
To where that lone one lay 

All stark against the sky. 

With more than tender care 
His burden he did bear 
Unto his comrades there, 

Who clove the air with cheers ; 
But when they saw the face 
Upturned to his embrace. 
Another joy did lace 

Their cheeks with silent tears. 

Homeward, with heartening song, 
They drove the boat along, 

'3' 



Hiirro IVIid joys that there did throng 

From perils all had braved ; 
And when they neared the shore, 
'Twas Harro shouted o'er : 
*♦ Good mother, grieve no more, 
'Tis Uwe we have saved." 

INVOCATION TO SAN FRANCISCO 

READ AT THE UNITARIAN CLUB DINNER ON MARCH 19, 18 
AT WHICH WAS DISCUSSED "MUNICIPAL PROBLEMS." 

O City of our life and hope. 

That sittest by this westmost sea. 
Thy lovers pray thy widest scope. 

And deepest in the yet to be. 

May Learning's temples rear their towers 

Above thy unpolluted ways. 
And all the strength of all thy powers 

Build only what good men can praise. 

May stranger ships bring costly bales 

From every near and distant land. 
And in return thy winged sails 

By prosperous winds he ever fanned. 

132 



May all the arts with newer life. 

And greater, sing their highest notes; 

While over all with glory rife 
The flag of peace divinely floats. 

O City of our life and hope. 

That sittest by this westmost sea. 

So long as we have strength to cope, 

God lead that strength to truth and thee. 

MY FRIEND 



Invocation 

to San 

Francisco 



He had completeness : Gentleman and Man 
Bloomed in his nature a composite flower ; 
The grace and elegance of mien that can 
Alone assure us that the subtile power 
Of pure refinement every action rules. 
High culture, dignity and gentleness. 
All these were his. And in the sterner schools. 
Where none but souls that vigorously press 
Forever onward win the world's success. 
He was as sturdy as a man might be. 
And with it all, pretentious ne'er was he. 
But went his way with charming modesty. 

133 



In Memoriam 



My dear, departed boy, these songs I lay 
Upon the urn that holds thy hallowed clay ; 
Wrung from the fibres of my heart they are- 
That heart which wears immedicable scar. 



p. T. T. 



But six and twenty years on earth he knew ; 
And from the time his eyes first saw the day. 
Until death Winded them forever, they 
Cast but affection's glances from their blue. 

And in their light such confidences grew 

And genial joys, that home became the stay 
That held him fast when he was far away 
And once more drew him to his cherished few. 

Machinery was his goddess at whose shrine 
With nimble fingers and inventive brain 
He poured unstintedly his life's best wine. 

So young, so good, to die ! That sad refrain. 

Wet with his dear ones' tears that blend with 

mine. 
Makes heavier my intolerable pain. 



137 



AMONG THE WHEELS 

TO P. T. T. 

With heavy heart I went amid the hum 

Of whirring wheels that owe their life to thee. 
And where thou hadst full often greeted me 
With love that made it more than joy to come ; 

But all their music was to me as dumb 
As if thy hand had never set it free : 
For thy dear, welcoming face I could not see. 
And Grief but added to her bitter sum. 

Then Peace drew near me and upon my head 
Most softly laid her spirit-soothing palm. 
As with the gentlest tenderness she said : 

Remember, after storm there must be calm ; 

And know, these wheels now sing rejoicing psalm 
For him who lives in them though he be dead. 



138 



DREAMS 



I know not why so wearisome to me 
My necessary tasks appear to-day. 
Save that my brood of dreams is fain to play 
Where all things beautiful are wont to be. 

This very moment do I feel so free 

That nought could hold me under tasking sway. 
As borne beyond the city's strenuous way 
I float in soundless, calm serenity. 

And now the mountains woo me on and on. 
And many a lake lays bare her crystal breast. 
While scene on scene its pillared beauty rears. 

O dreams that mock ! for from me he has gone 
Who shared these joys with me ; and grief-oppressed 
I sink to earth o'erweighted with my tears. 



139 



TO i\ r. r. 



The str!ini:fst thing that ever o.ime to me. 
Since first mv boini; i-onsoions tcclini; know, 
\^*iis thiit rcloncloss p;iin which piorcovi nie throuj^h 
When PeiUh uniuereitiil h.-jJ power o'er thee: 

That thou nowhere in all this worUl eanst be, 
Thv voice forever mute that rauj: so true. 
Oh, who can sounJ the vlepths of" such adieu 
Till made acquainted with its agony ? 

But when 1 saw thee in thv cothn laid, 
A rare, new beautv shone upon thv face 
So gracious and so wonderful to see. 

That Death's own self 1 could not then upbraid. 
For through mv tears mv vision seemed to tmcc 
Thy flight to higher than mortality. 



140 



DIRGE 



In these sad days when Joy outspreads her wing 
Grief's unrestrained pursuers to elude. 
Sudden she feels the shaft, and thence subdued 
Falls down to earth a wounded, anguished thing. 

Then Grief from out her loneliest cave doth bring 
Upon the scene her melancholy brood. 
And bids no note of happiness intrude 
As these alone in dirge's numbers sing: 

Oh, mourn for him who in his promise died ; 
For him who held his course by Duty's pole; 
For him whose cup of love was filled to brim. 

Remember how he stood when he was tried. 

Remember those great hopes that stirred his soul. 
Remember all he was, and mourn for him. 



141 



our OF THE SHADOW 



I would not hiivc the world's rogurdloss eves 
Rest on this verse made consecrate with tears 
For him who in the blossom ot" his vears 
Sank down o'erlnirdened, nevermore to rise ; 

But those alone whose unavailing cries 

Have risen like mine tor all the heart endears 
I would have here to pause, and in his bier's 
Deep shadow share mv bosom's agonies. 

Yet as Grief hands the bitter cup around. 
And deeper grows the shade's intensitv, 
Mv soul mav hear some new, tar-talling sound; 

And midst its throbs divine it then mav be 

That Lite will stream with richer thought mi me. 
And Death seem monarch with etfuli^ence crowned. 



142 



TO DEATH 



Thou rnonstcr Death, tliat dost no mercy show 
'I'o least or greatest of the earthly train ; 
That hast made horrible thine endless reign 
With lear-cemerited monuments of woe ! 

Tliou angel Death, that kindly dost fjestow 
Release from hopeless ill, froir) torturing [jain. 
And from life's whirling flood wliere fiercely stryin 
The desperate souls that faint and sink fjelow ! 

Like Love thou art as old as oldest eld. 
Yet ever new as is the wondrous child 
This moment blossomed on its mother's breast ; 

And since the time that thou wast first fjeheld. 
When Order's music rang through Chaos wild, 
Life has by thee fjeen nourished and caressed. 



H3 



ENVOY 



TO P. T. T. 



Thy work is done, and what thou hadst to do 
Was wrought with faithfulness and all thy might. 
Nor darker made is now my sorrow's night 
By thought that thou wast ever less than true. 

What flowers more sweet than these could Love 
bestrew 
On tomb of any man though Son of Light 
With dazzling fame immaculately white. 
Or conquering one whose sword its millions slew ? 

Thy mortal ashes rest within the urn ; 
Thy fleshly substance is dissolved in air 
Or throbs with newer life in many a cell ; 

Thy spirit is a star whose light will burn. 
We trust, so deeply and divinely fair. 
That Grief herself shall feel that all is well. 



144 



Translations 



Why heed the critics who delight to dart 
Their sneer-tipped arrows at translator's art ? 
The poet's work remains his own at last 
Though it in other languages be cast, 
And in the sky of Fame it still will shine 
By that which made it at the first divine. 
But in this foreign dress some soul may see 
A hint of that which fascinated me ; 
Some deep impression be still deeper made 
When by our muse-beloved tongue conveyed } 
Some beauty be with newer beauty set ; 
Some thought that will with fresh emotion fret 
Some gentle breast, or with strange music sweep 
O'er heaving waters of the spirit's deep. 



FROM A WINNOWER OF GRAIN TO 
THE WINDS 

(after JOACHIM DU BELLAY) 

Nimble troop, to you 

That on light pinion through 
The world forever pass. 
And with a murmuring sweet 
Where shade and verdure meet 
Toss gently leaf and grass, 

I give these violets. 

Lilies and flowerets. 
And roses here that blow. 
All these red-blushing roses 
Whose freshness now uncloses. 
And these rich pinks also. 

With your soft breath now deign 
To fan the spreading plain. 
And fan, too, this retreat. 
Whilst I with toil and strain 
Winnow my golden grain 
In the day's scorching heat. 



HI 



FROM THE MISCELLANEOUS POEMS OF 
VOLTAIRE : 

TO A LADY 

ON SENDING HER A RING ON WHICH WAS 
ENGRAVED THE AUTHORS PORTRAIT 

These features Barier graved for you alone : 
O deign to find them fit for you to see : 
Yours in my heart were better cut, and own 
A master greater far than he. 



TO MADAME DU CHATELET 

ON RECEIVING HER PORTRAIT 

O living image, features dear, 
Of that fond object of my passion's smart ! 
Yet that which love has graved upon my heart 

Than this is thousand times more near. 



14S 



TO A PRATER 

In writing, thought should lead the way : From 

Better erase the senseless blot. 
Authors at times write on without a thought. 
As some speak oft without a word to say. 



EPIGRAM 



ON THE DEATH OF MONSIEUR D'AUBE, NEPHEW OF 
MONSIEUR DE FONTENELLE 



Who is it knocks ? said Lucifer. — From 

Open, 'tis d'Aube. At this name's stir, Voltaire 

All helldom fled and left him lone. 
Oh, oh ! said d'Aube, this land, I see. 
Treats me as Paris treated me : 
Whene'er I made a call, I found not anyone. 



149 



EPIGRAM 

From Know you that noteless poetaster who, 
""^ Dust-dry and stifF, is cold and hard all through ; 
Having the slanderer's bite without his art. 
Who ne'er can please much less can wound the heart ; 
Who for misdeeds in prison walls did tare. 
And afterwards was flogged at Saint-Lazare, 
Chased, beaten and detested for his crimes. 
Disgraced, despised, derided for his rhymes ; 
And who, contented in a cuckold's sty. 
Chatters about himself unceasingly ? 
Eh ! 'tis the poet Roy, at once all cry. 



ISO 



FAREWELL TO LIFE 

AT PARIS, 1778. 

Farewell ! — the country I go to From 

Still holds my late dear father yet ; 

My friends, farewell tore'er to you 

Who may for me bear some regret. 

Laugh, enemies, for so to do 

Will pay the usual requiem debt. 

Still, some day you may feel concern : 

For when to darksome shores consigned. 

Your works you there would seek to find. 

On yos. the laugh will have its turn. 

When on the stage of human life 
A man can play his part no more. 
On leaving, all the air is rife 
With hisses to his exit door. 
I've seen in their last malady 
Full many a one of differing states : 
Old bishops, aged magistrates. 
Old courtesans, in agony. 
In vain, all ceremoniously. 
Together with its little bell 



Ftrewtil Came sacred gear oi sacristy; 
' N'ainly the priest anointed well 
Our friend in his extremity; 
The public laughed with malice fell ; 
A moment satire joyed to dwell 
On all his lit'e's absurdity; 
Then even his name no one could tell — 
The tkrce had reached tinality. 
And now my utmost bound I own. 
What man needs less compassion's tear? 
'Tis he alone knows nought o'( fear. 
Who lives and dies to fame unknown. 



152 



THE TOMB AND THE ROSE 

(from "LE8 VOIX INTf RIEURES " OP VICTOR HUGO) 

The Tomb said to the Rose: "Love's own. 
What mak'st thou of the tears bestrown 
By lovely, dew^y dawn o'er thee?" 
The Rose said to the Tomb : "And pray. 
What comes of that which feeds alway 
Thy gulf that yawns eternally?" 

Then said the Rose: "O sombre Tomb, 

I make of them a rare perfume 

Where honey with the amber lies." 

Then said the Tomb : ** O plaintive Flower, 

Of every soul that feels my power 

I make an angel of the skies!" 



53 



COME NEAR ME WHEN I SLEEP 

(from *• LKS RAYONS KT LKS OMBRES " OF VICTOR HUGO) 

Oh, when I sleep, come closely to my couch 

As did fair Laura to Petrarca's side. 

And as I feel thy breathing's balmy touch . . . — 

Sudden mv lips 

Will part to thine. 

^^'hcn on inv brow, where then perchance some dream 

Of darkness settles which too long would bide, 

Thv lovelv eves look down with starry beam . . . — 

Sudden mv dream 

^^'ill brightlv shine. 

Then if mv lips, whose fluttering flame has learned 

Love's lightning Ciod himself has puritied. 

Are kissed bv thee — to woman angel turned . . . — 

Sudden will wake 

This soul o\ mine. 



»s+ 



IN THE CEMETERY OF .... 

(prom " LE8 RAYONS ET LE8 OMBRES " OF VICTOR HUGO) 

The laughing living crowd by folly still is led. 

At times where pleasure rules, at times where anguish 

lies. 
But here these all forgotten, silent, lonely dead 
On me, a dreamer, fix their sad, regardful eyes. 

They know me to be man of solitary mood, 

A musiiig, strolling one who on the trees attends. 

The soul that sadly learns, from sorrow's countless 

brood. 
In trouble all begins, in peace all trouble ends ! 

They well do know the pensive, reverent mien of mine 
Mid crosses, graves and boxwood, and they mutely list 
To fallen leaves that 'neath my careless foot repine. 
And they have seen me dream in woods the shades 
have kissed. 

O blatant living ones of strife and mad unrest. 
My flowing voice falls better on these dead ones' ears ! 
My lyre's sweet hymns that lie deep hidden in my breast 
That are but songs for you, for them arc gushing tears. 



of 



In the Forgotten by the living, nature still is theirs : 
tmt try j^^ garden of the dead where each shall end his dreams. 
In more celestial garb, and iMlmcr, dawn appears. 
Still lovelier is bird, and lilv purer socms. 

*Tis there I live ! — there pluck the rose ot' pallid hice. 
Console with tombs that lie in desolation rent ; 
I pass, repass, the branches gcntlv there displace. 
And stir the sighing grass ; the dead thcv are content. 

'Tis there 1 dream ; and roaming manv a drowsetUl 

space. 
With thought-enwidened eves I marvellouslv see 
Mv soul transformed as in a magic-haunted place. 
Mysterious mirror ot' the vast immensity. 

The wandering beetles there 1 indolently watch, 
The wavering branches, torms, and color-glinting gleams. 
And on the t'allen stones reposing love to catch 
The da:-.7.1ings ot" the flowers and ot' the mvriad beams. 

'Tis dream's ideal tills mv wondering evesight there, 
Floating in shining veil between the earth and me ; 
And there my ingrate doubts are melted into prayer : 
For standing I begin and end upon my knee. 



is-t> 



As in the rock, whose hollow drips in sunlcs: gloom. In the 

For drop of water seeks the thirsty, humble dove, ' ^ 

of . . . 
So n/jw rny altered spirit seeks the shadeful tomb. 

To drink, if but a sip, of faith, of hope and love. 



WHAT IS HEARD ON THE MOUNTAIN 

(from <*LE8 FEU1LLE3 d'aUTOMNE " OF VICTOR HUGo) 

Has it so been that you in calmful, silent wise. 
Have pushed to mountain's top in presence of the skies ? 
Was this on banks of Sund ? on shores of Brittany ? 
And at the mountain's foot did you the ocean sec? 
And leaned o'er surging wave, and o'er immensity, 
In silent wise and calmful, have you bent your ear ? 
*Tis this befalls : at least, one day at dream's command 
My thought had drooped in flight above a shimmering 

strand. 
And, to the briny depths plunging from summit sheer. 
On one hand saw the sea, on the other saw the land ; 
And listening there J heard a voice whose parallel 
Ne'er issued from a mouth and on an ear ne'er fell. 



>57 



What is At first its sound was full, contused, all unconfincd. 

More vague than in the tufted trees the sighing wind ; 
on the 
Mountain ^*^^ piercing concords filled, with murmurs suavely- 
low ; 
Sweet as a-n evening song, as harsh as armors' shock 
When fight's red furies round the maddened squadrons 

flock. 
And in the clarion's mouths with battle's fierceness 

blow. 
'Twas music past all thought, with notes divinely deep. 
Which, fluid, round the world unceasingly did sweep. 
And in the boundless heavens, its waves fore'er renewed. 
Rolled, in its orbit's greatening, endless vastitude. 
To lowest depths profound, until its flow sublime 
Was lost in dark with Number, Form, and Space, and 

Time ! 
As with another air, dispersed, outreaching wide. 
The globe's whole body felt the hymn's eternal tide ; 
And as the world is wafted in its airy sea. 
So now 'twas wafted in this mighty symphony. 

Then the ethereal harps swept o'er my pensive soul. 
Lost in their voice as in great ocean's surging roll. 



158 



And soon I then discerned, clouded and dissonant. What is 

Two voices in this voice each with the other blent, near 

on the 
O'erflowing all the earth to very firmament, j^ untain 

That hymned together there the universal chant ; 

And in their roar profound mine ear caught every stave, 

As one two currents sees which cross beneath the wave. 

One came the waters o'er : blest hymn ! a glory-song ! 
It was the voice of waves that spoke in happy throng ; 
The other from the land that rose where now we are 
Was sad; it was men's murmur rising near and far; 
And in this diapason, which day and night sang on. 
Each billow had its voice, each man his separate tone. 

But, as I've said, the Ocean, vast, magnificent, 
A mild and joyous voice through endless spaces sent ; 
Like harp in Zion's fanes it burst in swelling note. 
And with creation's praise song filled its raptured throat. 
His music, borne by zephyrs as by gales that fly. 
Incessantly toward God in triumph mounted high. 
And when each throbbing wave, that God alone can 

quell. 
Had quired in joy another rose in songful swell. 
Like that great lion of whom brave Daniel was the guest. 



159 



What is At times the Ocean's voice dropped low within his 

"""'^ breast, 

on the 

Tit , . And then I deemed I saw toward the fierv West 
Mountain 

Upon his mane of gold the hand of God impressed. 

Yet, nathless, by the side of this so great fanfare 
The other voice, — like cry of steed in maddening scare. 
Like rusted hinge of gate that guards Hell's quenchless 

fire. 
Lake brazen bow drawn o'er the strings of iron lyre, — 
Ground harsh ; and insult, tears, anathema, and cries. 
Viaticum, baptism, refused by him who dies. 
The blasphemy and curse and rage from mouths that 

rave. 
In human clamor's whirling, all-devouring wave. 
Passed by, as in the vale where shuddering shadows 

cling 
Do Night's ill-omened birds with dusky, hideous wing. 
What was that sound which made a thousand echoes 

rise ? 
Alas ! it was the earth and man all torn with cries. 

Brothers, of these two voices, the strangest ever sped. 
That cease not though reborn, and cease not being fled, 

i6o 



That shake the eternal ear with everlasting stroke. What is 

Humanity in one, in the other. Nature spoke. 

on the 

Thought brooded o'er me, for my faithful spirit then Mountain 

Alas ! had never yet attained to such high ken. 

Nor had such lustrous light illumed my shadeful day; 

And I considered long, turning at times away 

From that obscure abyss the billows hid from me 

To the other gulf that filled my own immensity. 

And then I asked myself, why is it we are here. 

What is this life and what its agony and tear. 

And what the soul, and why should any being be ? 

Why should the Lord, who reads alone his book, decree 

Eternally to blend in hymen's fatal tie 

The song of nature with the human race's cry? 



i6i 



THE ri'LlCAN 

(kROM Al FRKP PK MI'SSKt's •• 1..\ M'lT DK \t;\l") 

\\ hen wc.iricvl pcluMU rctvirns from longthcncd i^uost 
l^nto his loiu'lv rccvls where evening nusts hang low. 
His t.unisheJ little ones all shorewarvl wiKllv go 
On seeing him ut.ir alight on billow's crest. 
And then believing spoil is theirs to seiv.e and share. 
With jovous cries thcv to their tather nuieklv tare. 
As o'er their hideous goitres shake their nivcning beaks. 
With dragging step and slow he gains a towering rock, 
Where shielding with his pendent wings his starving Hock 
He. melanoliolv tishcr, all the skv bespeaks. 
From out his open breast the blood makes copious wav. 
For vainlv sought he ocean's depths on eager wings ; 
Thev empty were and even the strand was stripped ot prcv ; 
And now tor tiourishment his heart alone he brings. 
Sombre and silent, stretched upon the lonely stone. 
The tather shares his deepest with the sons his own ; 
And in this love sublime he rocks his dolor till. 
As he views llowing fast the crimson oi his breast 
And sinks and staggers bv this feast oi' death possessed, 
Joy, tenderness and horror all his senses thrill. 

i6a 



But mid this sacrifice divine at moments he The 

Is sickened with the thought of too long agony, reltcan 

For now he sees his children will but give him death. 

Then rising up he opes his wings to ocean's breath. 

And striking hard his heart with madly savage cry. 

Along the night his woeful farewell notes so roll 

That all the sea-birds from the shore in terror fly. 

And traveller there belated, feeling death is nigh. 

With dread's appalling fears commends to God his soul. 

THE POET 
('from ai,frei> de musset's ** la nuit de mai") 

O Muse ! thou most insatiate sprite. 
Do not demand so much of me. 
Man nothing on the sand doth write 
When blows the north-wind bitterly. 
Time was my youthful lips were stirred 
And ever ready as a bird 
With ceaseless song the hours to speed ; 
But T have borne such pangs of fire. 
That were the least that I desire 
Essayed by me upon my lyre, 
It then would break it as a reed. 
163 



IMPROMPTU 

IN RESPONSE TO THE QUESTION: 

WHAT IS POETRY? 

(after ALFRED DE MUSSET) 

To drive the chase in every hallowed spot 

By Memory haunted, and the captured thought. 

All tremulous, uncertain, firm to hold 

Balanced on axis glorious of gold ; 

To stamp eternity upon the dream 

Which but an instant lights him w^ith its gleam ; 

Deeply to love the beautiful and true. 

And their harmonious virtues to pursue ; 

In his own heart to look and list unto 

The echo of his genius ; all alone 

To sing, to laugh, and make his tearful moan. 

Thereto unprompted by design or guile ; 

Out of a sigh, a word, a look, and even a smile, 

A work of art consummately to rear 

Full of sweet charmingness and moving fear ; 

A radiant pearl to fashion from a tear : 

Such is the passion of the poet's strife. 

His boon, his great ambition, and his life. 

164 



SONG 

(after ALFRED DE MUSSEt) 

Good morn, Suzon, my woodland flower ! 

Art still the prettiest thing to see ? 
I have returned, as thou must know. 

From wondrous trip to Italy! 
Of Paradise I've made the round — 
Have written verse — in Love been bound . . , 
What's that to thee ! 
What's that to thee I 
Before thee comes thy waiting one : 
Ope thy door ! 
Ope thy door ! 

Good uiDm, Suzon ! 

I saw thee in the lilacs' time. 

When thy free heart was in its bud, 
And thou did'st say: "I've no desire 

For love as yet to stir my blood." 
Since then, what, pray, has been thy fate ? 
Who leaves too soon returns too late. 
What's that to me? 
What's that to me? 
165 



Song Before thee comes thy waiting one : 
Ope thy door ! 
Ope thy door ! 

Good morn, Suzon ! 



ADIEU, SUZON! 

SONG 
(after ALFRED DE MUSSET) 

Adieu, Suzon, my sweet, blonde rose. 
Who for a week has made me blest : 
Of all the world's supreme delights. 
The short amour is oft the best. 
Ah, whither shall my errant star. 
On leaving thee, tempt me to stray? 
Yet I must go, my little one. 
With hastening pace, and far away. 
Still ever on. 

I leave thee ; on mine eager lip 
Burns once again thy parting kiss ; 
Within mine arms, imprudent dear, 
1 66 



Thy beauteous head finds soothing bliss. Adieu 

Feel'st thou my heart's delirious beat? 
How thine doth make responsive play! 
Yet I must go, my httle one. 
With hastening pace, and far away, 
Fore'er thine own. 

Faf! that's my horse they're saddling now; — 
When on the road, how then withstand 
The perfume of thy baleful hair. 
That has so scented all my hand ! 
Thou hypocrite, I see thee smile 
While running oiF in nymph-like play. 
Yet I must go, my little one. 
With hastening pace, and far away. 
Still laughing on. 

Oh, all of sadness and of charm. 

Dear child, is in thy fond adieu ! 

'Tis maddening joy to see thy heart 

Shine in thine eyes thy tear-drops through. 

In life, thy trancing look allures ; 

In death, 'twill be my latest stay. 

Yet I must go, my little one, 

167 



AMtUf With lustcniiij', Y-we, a\\<\ (a\ .uvay, 



SitZtM 



I .iiucnuuj^; on. 

Oh, thiit our love. shouKlst thou toi;;rt. 
Might tor one inoiucnt be revivoii 
Like some bonqvict ot" (.iroopini; tlowcrs 
Within tliv (.-li.uininj; bosom liived ! 
Adieu : good tbrtunc stavs at home ; 
But memoi \' sh;ill not s.iv nie wav : 
And that I'll take, mv little one, 
With li.isteninj; |\Ke, and t.ir .iw.iv, 
'Ncdth every sun, 

MARY STUART'S FAREWELL 

Farewell, delightful land ot" France, 

\N'lK"re all mv love doth lie ; 
Home ot mv ehiUlhoovl's gav romance. 
Farewell ! to leave thee is to die. 

O thou adopted country mine, 
That seest me banished tVom thv shore, 
List to [hv Mary's sad tarewell. 
And guard her memory evermore. 



The wind \i up, wc fjuit the atrand. 

And all uiy fear!) and sobs are vain ; 

God will not stir tlie angry waves, 

To beat me back to thee aj^ain. 

Farewell, delightful land of J'rance, 

Where all my love doth lie ; 
Home of my childhood'i gay romance. 
Farewell ! to leave thee is to die. 

When thy loved people saw me wreathed 
With thy resplendent fleur-de-lis. 
My charms in all their springtime bloom 
Won plaudits rank could ne'er decree. 
Ah, vain the royal pomp and state 
The gloomy Scot intends for me ; 
I would not wish to be a queen. 
Unless to reign, as once, o'er thee. 

Farewell, delightful land of France, 

Where all my love doth lie ; 
Home of my childhood's gay romance, 
Farewell ! to leave thee is to die. 

Love, glory, genius, these have filled 
With too much joy my beauteous days ; 
169 



Mary 
Stuart's 
Farevjell 



il/.;'V In Scotia's rough, uncultured land 

My tate will find tar different wavs. 
Farewell 

Alas ! already, big with doom. 

An omen bids my heart stand still ; 

For I have seen, in dreadful dream, 

A scaffold raised my blood to spill. 

Farewell, delightful land of France, 

^^'he^e all my love doth lie ; 
Home of my childhood's gay romance, 
Farewell ! to leave thee is to die. 

Dear France, in midst of all her fears 
The daughter of the Stuart line, 
As on this day which sees her tears. 
Will turn toward thee as to a shrine. 
But, God ! the ship with rapid keel 
Already bends 'neath foreign skies. 
And night draws down her dewy veil. 
To screen thee from my weeping eyes. 

Farewell ! delightful land of France, 

Where all mv love doth lie ; 
Home of mv childhood's gav romance. 
Farewell ! to leave thee is to die. 
I ~o 



FIFTY YEARS 
(after b^ranger) 

What mean these flowers ? Is it my fete ? 
No ; this bouquet now comes to say. 
That half a century on my head 
Is rounded and complete to-day. 
How many days fleet fast along ! 
How many moments fruitless pass! 
How many wrinkles tell their tale ! 
I'm fifty years. Alas ! Alas ! 

At such an age we nothing hold ; 
The fruit dies on the sallowing tree — 
But some one knocks ; — yet open not : 
My part is ended, that I see. 
I'll wage some doctor thrusts his card. 
Or 'tis the Times; ah, day there was, 
I would have said : That is Lisctte. 
I'm fifty years. Alas ! Alas ! 

Old age is cursed with biting ills : 
The gout is murder's willing tool ; 
Blindness for us welds prison chains ; 

171 



Tears 



Fifty While at our deafness mocks the fool. 
Then reason, like expiring lamp. 
Burns faint and trembling ere it pass, 
O children, honor hoary age. 
I'm fifty years. Alas ! Alas ! 

Heavens ! Here's Death ; — rubbing his hands 
With joyous glee, he comes apace. 
*Tis gravedigger that's at my door ; 
Farewell, good sirs of every race ! 
Below, are famine, pest and war ; 
Above, the stars' resplendent mass. 
Open, while God remains to me. 
I'm fifty years. Alas ! Alas ! 

But no ; — 'tis you ! mv welcome friend. 

Sister of Charity of loves ! 

You draw my sleeping soul from out 

The horrid thoughts wherein it moves ; 

Strewing the roses of your youth. 

As does the Spring, where'er you pass. 

And sweetening all an old man's dreams. 

I'm fifty years. Alas ! Alas ! 

172 



JACQUES 
(after beranger) 

Dear Jacques, I must bid thee awake : 
A bailiff scours the village round. 
With keeper following at his heels. 
Poor man, they come the tax to take. 

Get up, my Jacques, get up : 
Here comes the bailiff of the King. 

Look out and see : the night is gone ; 
Never before hast slept so late ; 
Thou know' St to sell to old Remi, 
That one must stir before the dawn. 

Get up, my Jacques, get up : 
Here comes the bailiff of the King. 

We've not a sou ! O God of fate ! 
I hear him ; how the dogs do bark ; 
He will demand a whole month's pay. 
Ah, if the King could only wait ! 



173 



Jacques Get up, my Jacques, get up : 

Here comes the bailiff of the King. 

Oh, how the poor are stripped and flayed ! 
So crushed are we, we own all told. 
For us, thy father and six boys. 
Nought but my distaff and thy spade. 

Get up, my Jacques, get up : 
Here comes the bailiff of the King. 

They count that with our wretched hut 
An acre's fourth is far too much ; 
Yet that with hopeless misery reeks. 
While this by usury's scythe is cut. 

Get up, my Jacques, get up : 
Here comes the bailiff of the King. 

So much of pain, of gains so few. 
When shall we taste pork flesh again ? 
Ah, strengthening food is all so dear ! 
And even the salt, and sugar, too ! 

Get up, my Jacques, get up : 
Here comes the bailiff of the King. 



174 



Some wine to thee would courage bring ; Jacques 

But then the laws are close and hard ; 
My dearest, for some drink for thee 
Go sell at once my wedding ring. 

Get up, my Jacques, get up : 
Here comes the bailiff of the King. 

Couldst dream that thy good angel would 
To thee bring plenty and repose ? 
Dost think taxation bites the rich ? 
Their barns to all the rats give food. 

Get up, my Jacques, get up : 
Here comes the bailiff of the King. 

He enters ! Heavens ! O woe of woes ! 
Thou speak' St no word ! Thou art so pale ! 
On yesterday thou mad'st some wail. 
From whom before no murmur rose. 

Get up, my Jacques, get up : 
Here's the good bailiff of the King. 



175 



Jacques Her cries are vain : there is no life. 

For him who wears toil's thorny crown 
Death is a pillow soft as down. 
Good people, pray ye for his wife. 

Get up, my Jacques, get up : 
Here's the good bailiff of the King. 



THE VASE 
(after leconte de lisle) 

Take, shepherd of the goat and of the frugal ewe. 
This two-eared vase, well-waxed, and from the chisel 

new. 
Its wood still fragrant smells, and round its edge enwind 
The ivy's verdurous leaves with helichrysum twined 
And clustering fruits of gold. Ah, firm the hand and 

fine 
That here did carve this form of woman so divine ; 
With peplum graced and brow enwreathed with flowers 

she smiles 
At her contending suitors with their fruitless wiles. 
176 



Upon the rock, his feet in tangled wrack where he The Vcse 
Now drags his long net toward the smooth and glaucous 

sea, 
A fisher comes apace ; and though with age bent o'er, 
His rigid muscles swell as strains he more and more. 
Near by a laden vine with ripened grapes bends low, 
'Neath which a young boy sits to guard it from the foe ; 
But two sly foxes steal upon the other side. 
And eat the grapes as they behind the branches hide. 
The while the child inweaves, from fragile straws 

with care. 
And from some blades of rush, a deft cicala-snare ; 
While all around the vase and Dorian plinth thou' It see 
The acanthus leaf displayed in beauty's luxury. 

This masterpiece has cost me pains and money too — 
A cheese both large and fresh, and fine, young pregnant 

ewe. 
Shepherd, 'tis thine whose songs are sweeter far to me 
Than figs of iEgilus, and wake Pan's jealousy. 



177 



SOLAR HERCULES 
(after leconte de lisle) 

O pang-born Tamer who as swaddled infant killed 
The Night's fell Dragons ! O thou Warrior, Lion- 
Heart, 
Who pierced bane-breathing Hydra with thy burning 

dart 
Where poisonous mist and mire their livid horrors 

spilled ; 
And who with flawless sight of old saw Centaurs start 
At precipices' verge and wheel with rearing breast ! 
Of all the genial Gods, the eldest, fairest, best ! 
O purifier King, who through thy glorious davs. 
Made, as so many torches, from the East to West, 
The sacrificial fire on every summit blaze ! 
Thy golden quiver's void, the Shade's at last thy goaL 
Hail Glory of the Air ! All vainly thou dost tear. 
With thy convulsive hands where flames in rivers roll, 
The bloody clouds which wreathe thy pyre divine, 

and there 
In purple whirlwind now thou yieldest up thy soul I 



178 



THE CONDOR'S SLEEP 
(after leconte de lisle) 

Beyond the Cordilleras' stairs that steeply wind. 
Beyond black eagle's haunts in mist-enshrouded air. 
And higher than the cratered, furrowed summits where 
The boiling flood of lava rages unconfined. 
His pendent pinions tinct with spots of crimson dye. 
The great bird silent views, with indolent, dull stare, 
America and space outreaching boundless there. 
And that now sombre sun which dies in his cold eye. 
Night rolls from out the East, where savage pampas lie 
Beneath the tier on tier of peaks in endless line ; 
It Chili lulls, the shores, the cities' roar and cry. 
The grand Pacific Sea, and horizon all divine ; 
The silent continent its close embraces hide : 
On sands and hills, in gorges, on declivities. 
And on the heights, now swell, in widening vortices. 
The heavy flood and flow of its high-rolling tide. 
Upon a lofty peak, alone, like spectre grim. 
Bathed in a light that spills its life-blood on the snow. 
He waits this direful sea that threats him as a foe : 
It comes, it breaks in foam, and dashes over him. 
179 



Si^ff 



T'bf In the unuthouu-d depths the Southern Cross doth loom 
Lona^r s Upon the sky's vast shore a pharos-shining light. 

His rattling throat speaks joy, he proudly shakes his 

plume. 
His muscular, peelei.1 neck he lifts and stretches tight ; 
To raise himself he gives the hard snow lashing stings ; 
Then with a raucous cry he mounts where no winds are. 
And from the dark globe hir, far from the living star. 
In the icy air he sleeps on grand, outspreading wings. 



I So 



TO A DEAD POET 

(ArrER LECONTE DE LISLE) 

Thou whose delighted eye roamed eagerly and free 
From huci divine to fornns in strength immortal grown, 
And from the fleshly to the heavens' star-splendored zone. 
In that dark night which seals thy lids peace be to thee. 

To see, to hear, to feel? Breath, dast and vanity. 
To love ? That golden cup has but the bitter known. 
Thou'rt like some wearied God who leaves his altars 

lone. 
To mingled be with matter's vast immensity. 

Upon thy mute grave where thy mouldering body lies 
Whether or no the tears are poured from sorrowing eyes. 
Whether thy banal age forget thee or acclaim, 

I envy thee thy silent, darksome bed below. 
Forever freed from life and never more to know 
Man's horror of his own existence and the shame. 



i8i 



MY SECRET 

(after FELIX ARVERS) 

My soul its secret has, my life its mystery : 
'Tis an eternal love an instant saw conceived. 
My pain's beyond all hope, so silent I must be. 
While she, the cause, knows not that I am sore bereaved. 

Alas ! I shall have passed anear her unperceived. 
Still by her side, and yet a lonely one to see. 
And shall have served on earth to life's extremity. 
Not daring aught to ask, and having nought received. 

Though God has made her sweet and infinitely dear. 
With heedless mind she'll go her way, and never hear 
The murmuring of love that doth her steps attend. 

Beneath the pious yoke of duty's rigid sway. 

When she reads o'er this verse all full of her, she'll say, 

" This woman, who is she ? " and will not comprehend. 



THE LADY'S ANSWER 
(after LOUIS aigoin) 

My friend, wherefore aver, with so much mystery. 
That the eternal love within your breast conceived 
Is pain beyond all hope, a secret that must be ; 
And why suppose that she may know not you're bereaved? 

Ah no, you did not pass anear her unperceived. 
Nor should you've deemed yourself a lonely one to see ; 
The best beloved may serve to life's extremity. 
Not daring aught to ask, and having nought received. 

The good God gives to us a knowing heart and dear. 
And on our way we find that it is sweet to hear 
The murmuring of love that doth our steps attend. 

She who would meekly bow to duty's rigid sway, 
Reading your verse of her, felt more than she can say : 
For though she spake no word, . . . she well did 
comprehend. 



i«3 



PHILOSOPHY 

(after taine) 

Two sages well have known the verity supreme ; 
But wrongly each the other condemns and says him nay ; 
One tells us : '* Bear thou up, be strong and patient 

aye"; 
The other : ** Happy be, enjoy each moment's dream." 

Zeno and Epicurus, on the antique trireme. 
To either shore have pressed too closely on their way; 
While we, in seeking port, have stranded even as they. 
And yet the cats have solved the problem's knotty 
scheme : 

The pleasure as it comes, the pain that will not fly. 
You, Puss, accept unquestioned ; and the sun on high. 
When in the boundless blue at eve he journeys hence. 

Sees you, in circle couched, as at morn's earliest call. 
Without an effort happy, and resigned to all. 
Serenely smooth your tail in calm indifference. 



184 



MY BOHEMIA 

A FANTASY 
(after ARTHUR RIMBAUd) 

With fists in tattered pockets forth I strayed, — 
My great-coat, too, not far from raggery, — 
Beneath the skies, O Muse, most true to thee ; 
And there what radiant love-dreams round me played ! 
My only breeches gaped with holes as I, 
Poor, little dreamer, many a rhyme dropped where 
My footsteps fared ; mine inn the heavens' Great Bear, 
'Neath stars whose soft, sweet rustlings filled the sky. 

I heard them as I sat by roadsides when 
September's eves were steeped in balm ; and then. 
As with strong wine, my face was wet with dew ; 
And rhyming midst fantastic shades I made 
Of my torn shoe's elastics, worn and frayed, 
A lyre as near my heart my foot I drew. 

Note. — Mr. Lloyd Mifflin calls my attention to the original of this sonnet 
and to the fact that Mr. George Moore, in his " Impressions and Opinions," 
says that Rimbaud wrote it at the age of fifteen years, and that it was never 
before published until it was published in his (Moore's) volume with title as 
above 



185 



THE VIOLET 
(after goethe) 

Unknown a violet bowed its head 
Where meadow in its beauty spread — 
A violet fresh and lovely. 
As youthful shepherdess came there. 
And with light step and winsome air 
Along, along. 
The meadow went and sang. 

"Ah!" thought the violet, "would that I 
Were grandest flower beneath the sky. 
Instead of violet lowly. 
By her dear hand to be uptorn 
And on her gracious bosom worn. 
If but, if but, 
A little quarter-hour." 

But ah ! on it the maiden bent 
No glance at all, but as she went 
The violet poor she trampled. 
Yet still it sank in joyful state : 
" I die, indeed, but glorious fate. 
Through her, through her. 
And at her very feet." 

1 86 



THE ANGLER 
(after goethe) 

The water rushed in swelhng flow ; 

An Angler plied his art 
As sat he filled with calm, and cool 

Up to the very heart ; 
And as he lurked with slyness there. 

And motionless did spy. 
Amazed he saw the tide upheave, 

Divide itself on high. 
And from the cleft a Naiad rise 

Before his dazzled eye. 

She sang to him ; she spake to him : 

"My brood why dost thou snare. 
With human wit and human craft. 

To scorching death of air? 
Ah, friend of mine ! if thou wouldst know 

What joys my children share 
Upon the ground where they disport. 

Unknown to ills or care. 
Thou shouldst descend and be at once 

Rejuvenated there. 

187 



TbiT "Do not the Sun and Moon repose 
^tgi'^r Refreshed on Ocean's breast? 

Turn not their welcome faces there 

Upon us doubly blest. 
As trom the sparkling wave thev rise 

With newer lite imprest ? 
Allure thee not the Heavens deep. 

The humid, glorious Blue? 
Decoys thee not thy mirrored form 

Down to perpetual dew ? ' ' 

The water rushed in swelling tlow ; 

It laved his naked feet ; 
His he;irt unconsciously grew tull 

Oi fond desire's heat. 
As if his own beloved had come 

His offered kiss to meet. 
She spake to him ; she sang to him ; 

No hand could intervene : 
She drew him halt", half sank he down 

And nevermore was seen. 



i88 



UNDER THE LINDEN 
(from goethe's faust) 

AH for the dance the shepherd dressed ; 
In ribbon, wreath and coloured vest. 

Sprucely himself arraying ; 
Beneath the Linden's green expanse 
The crowd began like mad to dance ; 

Huzza ! Huzza ! 

Hey-day-hey ! Hey ! Hey 1 

The fiddle-bow went playing. 

With eager haste into the mass 
He hotly pressed, against a lass 

His elbow sharply sending ; 
The blooming wench turned quick about. 
And cried, "You gawky, stupid lout!" 

Huzza ! Huzza ! 

Hey-day-hey ! Hey ! Hey ! 

"Your manners need amending." 

Still swiftly sped the dance-delight 
From right to left, from left to right, 
The petticoats a-flying ; 

189 



UriJiT Until at last, all red and warm. 



the 
Linden 



They rested, panting, arm in arm, 
Huzza ! Huzza ! 
Hey-day-hey ! Hey ! Hey ! 
With hips 'gainst elbows lying. 

** Stand off, good sir ! come not so near ! 
Full many a one his dearest dear 

Has cheated in Love's riddle!" 
But ah ! he wheedled her aside. 
While from the Linden sounded wide 

Huzza ! Huzza ! 

Hey-day-hey ! Hey ! Hey ! 
The shouts, and screams, and fiddle ! 



190 



FAUST'S WAGER 
(prom coethe's i-aust) 

Faust. Should I lie down on couch of indolence 
contented. 
Then be it o'er with me at once ! 
Canst thou with guileful praise so gull me, 
That self-approval swells my breast ; 
Canst thou with pleasure's froth delude me, 
Then be that day my very last ! 
This wager offer 1. 

Mephisto. Agreed ! 

Faust. And quickly too ! 

If I bespeak the passing moment, 

" Oh, stay, so beautiful thou art ! " 

Then mayst thou clap me fast in fetters. 

Then utter ruin be my part ! 

Then let the death-bell sound its numbers. 

Then be thou from thy service free. 

The clock may stop, its hands be broken. 

And Time be past and gone for me ! 



191 



MARGARET AT THE SPINNING WHEEL 
(from Goethe's kaust) 

Mv heart is heavv, 
My peace is o'er. 
No more I'll find it, 
No, nevermore. 

Not him to have 
Is as the grave. 
And bitter all 
The world as gall. 

Oh, this poor head 
Of mine is crazed. 
And my poor sense 
Is racked and dazed. 

My heart is heavy. 
My peace is o'er. 
No more I'll find it. 
No, nevermore. 



192 



From the window I 
Him only would sec. 
When I quit the house 
'Tis with him to be. 

His stately step. 

His figure grand. 

His mouth's witching smile. 

His eye of command. 

His talk that flows 
Like stream of bliss. 
His hand's fond clasp. 
And ah, his kiss ! 

My heart is heavy. 
My peace is o'er. 
No more I'll find it. 
No, nevermore. 

My bosom strains 
Toward him fore'er ; 
Oh, could I fold 
And hold him there ! 



Margaret 
at the 

Spinning 
Wheel 



^93 



Mar^^rft An.i kiss him till 

Mv hciirt nin drv, 
If'biti Aw<l on his kisses 



Enraptured die 



THE HUNTFR OF THE ALPS 

(^AKTER SCHILLKr) 

Wilt thou, son, not guard the kmbkin — 
Lambkin mild, my dearest charge ; 

Feeding from the grasses' Rowers. 

PLiving by the brooklet's marge? 

Mother, mother, let me go 

Up the mountain with m\- bow ! 

Wilt thou not Ciill up the cattle 

With the livelv, echoing horn? 

Clearly sound the bells and sweetly, 
On the forest breei'.es borne. 

Mother, mother, say 1 may 

In the mountain's wildness play. 

1^4 



Wilt thou not attend the flowers The 

Hunter 



Standing kindly in their bed? 
Gardens there do not invite thee. 

Wild the mountain's rugged heaa. 
Let the buds untended blow ; 
Mother, mother, let me go ! 

And the boy with bounding gladness 
Sallies forth upon the chase ; 

Rashly reckless, blindly venturing 

To the mountain's darkest place. 

Where before the hunter fell 

Flies like wind the scared gazelle. 

Up the ribs of rocks all naked. 

Flies she with the nimblest step ; 

Over crags' wide-gaping fissures 

Speeds she with unerring leap ; 

But behind, the heedless boy 

Follows fast with murderous joy. 

Now, of all the rugged summits 

Hangs she on the highest place. 

Where the cliffs sink down abruptly. 
With of path no sign or trace ; 



of the 
Alps 



The Steepy heights she sees below, 

^''"^^'' And behind, the nearing foe. 
of the ^ 

Alps With dumb, pleading look of anguish 
Begs she mercy of her foe ; 
Begs in vain, for now the arrow 

Threats to leave the bended bow ;- 
When from out the rock's cleft face 
Steps the Genius of the place ; 

And with hand of God-like seeming 
Frees the beast as thunders he : 

** Must thou death and woe be sending 
So thev cry even up to me ? 

Earth for each and all has room. 

Why dost mark my herd for doom?" 



196 



LOVE AND TIME 
(from a prose translation by professor ALEFN 

PUTZKER of a modern CREEK POEMj 

My Dear and I one summer day 

Toiled up the mountain's rugged way. 

And as we slowly fared along 

With heartening speech and snatch of song, 

Eros and Chronos with us walked. 

And lightly laughed and gayly talked. 

But as we traveled. Love and Time 

Began to fast and faster climb ; 

When cried I out, ** Sweet Eros, stay. 

Oh, do not, do not, haste away ; 

My Love can scarce maintain thy pace. 

And fain would rest a little space." 

But no response or word came back 
Along the mountain's winding track. 
But spreading out their wings, the two 
Now faster and still faster flew, 
Until I saw in wild dismay 
Their figures fleeting fast away. 



197 



Love And shouted, till mv breast was sore. 



and 
Ttmf 



My earnest pleading o'er and o'er: 
"My friends. Oh, whither do you Hy ? 
Is it to place beyond mv crv ? 
My love no farther step can go. 
And will you then desert her so?" 

But all in vain : their rapid flight 

Soon bore them trom my straining sight. 

And as they vanished, on mine ear 

Fell saddest words a man might hear : 

** Know'st not the truth, which lives for ave. 

That Love with Time will flit awav ?" 

THE SOLDIER'S FATE 

(from the GERMAN OF PROFESSOR ALBIN PUTZKEr) 

Now tumultuous war 

Draws the youth afar 

Out from fatherland 

Unto alien strand. 
Wounded on the field of battle lies. 
Underneath the blistering torrid skies, 

198 



Bleeding fast, the son, the child so dear. The 

His beloved, helping ones not near. Soldier's 

Tj , , , Fate 

Wow the wound burns ! — Oh, 

Who his pains can know ! 

Anguished to the bone 

Lies he there alone. 

Round him only matted jungles grow 

Where the fatal ball has laid him low ; 

Noxious marsh is all his pillow there. 

And his cover nought but stilling air. 

Now into his breast. 

Where life's joys had pressed. 

Creeps with blasting breath 

He, sole rescuer — death. 

"Mother, dearest," soft he murmurs o'er; 

And the burning wound then burns no more ; 

From his tender heart all pain has gone ; 

Ours in bitter grief to suffer on. 



199 



BENEDICTION 

My Mother dear, these songs of many days 

Are now the world' s to scorn, or blame, or praise ; 

But could they shine with something of the grace 

That bloomlike lay upon thy lovely face. 

The best of them might well aspire to rise 

In Love' s own arms to Fame' s star-gloried skies. 

It may be that an idle dream I chase ; 

But Spirit blest, from thy exalted place 

Oh, bend above them and with angel heart 

Give them thy blessing as they now depart. 



INDEX 

Adieu, Suzon ! . . . . . . . . iCfi 

Adversity ......••. ^3 

After the Storm ........ 5^ 

Aldrich, On the Lyric* of . . . . . • 9 a 

Alfred de Mustct, From . . . . . . ,162 

Ambition ......... '9 

Among the Wheels . , . . . . . • '3^ 

Andrce'8 Carrier Pigeon, To . . . . . .116 

Angler, The 187 

April 55 

Arria . . . . . . . . . -1^5 

A. S. T 107 

Attainment . . . . . . . . .16 

Balzac, To 7^ 

Bayard Taylor's Poems, Written in a Soiled Volume of . .100 

Beatitude 4^ 

Beauty ......•••• 49 

Benediction . . . . . . . • .201 

B^anger, From . . . , . . . .168 

Bonzig, To 123 

Browning, To . . . , . . . . .71 

Bryant, To 93 

Burns, To . , , . . . . . .81 

Byron, To 76 



203 



Cjirlylr, To 7+ 

Crmetrn v>t" In the . . . . . . 155 

Christoj\lwr Suutt . . , . , , . .So 

CvMUp Ncjir Mf \Vl\ru 1 Slwp , . . . . In4 

tVncentrjtion . , . . . . . . . i S 

Cv>nclv\r's Slwp, The . . . . . . .1*9 

C\M\sv>Utioi\ . . . . . . . . . io 

CiMwtnt l'4rden. In the . . . , . . iJO 

CvX'«{yr, To lV'>txrssv.>r . . . . . . lo- 

C. S. K... To 11' 

Curtis, To G^v^ntr WiUian^ . . . . . .110 

Paw i\ . . . . . , , . . . 3 ' 

l\»vvn. On l^vturr l\>intc\l by Wilfum Keith entitles! . . 59 

n<'.>a Pv^et. To 4 iSi 

IVath, To 14.; 

Dedication iii 

IVlivrrance . . . . . . . . • i^ 

IVl Mome. At nS 

Dit^e 14> 

Divine Hamiony, The ....... ^9 

l>ean\ .......... 4 

Prrams ....%...• ^ .?<) 

Ou Chatelet, To Madame > 4^ 

Dying Year, The ........ f'i 

Enchanted Wood, The • 5^^ 

EndeaNxa" .,......• -<> 

Endure, Thou Fainting Soul ...... 4^-"' 

Envoy .......... '44 

Epigram . ^ . 1 4<) 



204 



Hyt'i'/nm 



KO 



Firir/fM to Life ' !: ' 

Fautt't Wajj'3' '>' 

Felix Arvo-*, From . . . . . . i'^,% 

Fifty Ymrz '7' 

Trarrt a Winw/wer of C/rain to tht Wind* . . . 147 

FruitlcM i^uert, Ttw: ^>3 

Gfxrtfx:, Frwn , . . , . . . . i^C 

Gf>ethe, To . . . , . , . . • ^''j 

Golden Hrritag«:, Th« ,,,,,.. ^3 

Goldtmith, To . . <!4 

HiAixk, To Fitz-Greene / o i 

Harro 127 

Henlty, On Looking int/> i'<jtmt of . . . . ?7 

Heredia, To 73 

Henry Gef/r'^t . . . . . . . . i / ; 

Home ........ . . 5! 

Hunter of the AJpt, The . . . . . J94 

In Hmrihlt Pru'nc . . , , . . . • ^'5 
In Mennoriam . . , , . . . .'35 

In Tril/ute 105 

Jacqutt . , . , , , . . .'73 

Jon/juil, The ....,..,. 45! 
Jordan, To I^vid Starr . , . , , . .if; 

Joy of Kart}j, Thie -54 

Kcati, To .....,,,. 77 
205 



Kfith. To Willi.ini . . . . . . . Iia 

L,vl). To .1. . . . , , . . .1+8 

Lady's Answtr, The 1 83 

L,in\b, To . , . . . . . . .85 

Laniior, To ......... 83 

Lamlscapcs r.»ii\tevl by William K.eitl», On Sonic , . • SJ 

L.mc, To Dr. Levi Civper . . , , . . 108 

Leconte de Lisle, From . . , . . , . I '^ 

Life and Death 2a 

Lloyd Mittiin, To 96 

Longfellow, After an Evening with . . . , 91 

Louis Aigi>in, From . . . . . . . . '^3 

l.o\c- .iiul Time . . . . . . . .197 

Love's Fears . . . . , . , , -33 

Lowell, To James Russell ...... 90 

NLirble Statuette ot" Heatrive, To a . . . . • 30 

Margaret at the Spinning Wheel . . . 192 

My Friend W. H. T., To 114 

Mary Stuart's Farewell . . . . . . . i68 

Matthew .Arnold, To ....... "O 

Meadow, The ........ 57 

MilK>n, To 68 

Mo<.vls ......... 1 

.My Bohemia ......... 1S5 

My Friend . . . . , . . . -133 

My L.idy Sleeps . 5 

My Muse ......... 3 

My Secret i8a 

My Summer . . . . . . . • \ 35 

206 



Natiirr'H Can; of" Mi-r Own . . » ♦ . •45 

Niglit 51 

Now . . . .15 

Ol.l, OUl l;;.yii, T),.: 20 

On Nature's lirra.l ........ 41 

Out of the Shadow . . , . . .142 

Pelican, The . . . . . . . . . ifiz 

Perpctua , . ...... 1 24 

Philosophy . . . . . . . . . '^-^ 

Pine Not, Nor J-'ret ....... 41 

Poc 95 

Poet, Tlie 10 

Poet, The {/ljli:r Dc Muuet ) 163 

Poetic Art . . . . . . . . . 22 

Poi)e .......... 92 

Prater, To a ........ 149 

Prayer .......... 9 

Prayer, A . . . . . . . . . 39 

Preuidio of San J'Vantiico, At tlie . . , . -47 

PromiHC ......... 64 

Proof of God . . . . . . . . .11 

P. T. T 137 

P. T. T., To . .■* 140 

Put/.ker, I'Vorn Profcssfjr . . . . . .197 

Question .......... 24 

Quiet Wood, Tlie 56 

Rearden, On Reading I'osthumouoly Published Volume of 1 13 

Refuge ..........24 



Z07 



Reverie ......... 7 

Rimbaud, From . . . . . , . .185 

Ruskin, To 88 

San Francisco, Invocation to , , . . . .13* 

Sawmill, The ........ 38 

Schiller, From . . , . . . . . ^94 

Shakespeare, To ..,.,,.. 67 

Sierras, To the ......... 46 

Sleep, To .,.,..... 6 

Solar Hercules . , . . . . . . . 1 78 

Soldier's Fate, The . . . . . . .198 

Solitude .......... ai 

Song 34 

Song 35 

Song {After De Musset) . . . . . .165 

Song its Own Reward .,.,... 28 
Sonnet, To the ....,,.. 25 

Sufficiency . . . . . . . . .17 

Swinburne on his Drama, To . . . , . 86 

Tajne, From . . , . . . . . • 184 

Tennyson, To ........ 79 

Tennyson's Good Fortune ....... 80 

"The Slopes of Helicon," Written in Lloyd Mifflin's . 97 

Thoughts . . . . . , . . .12 

Tomb and the Rose, The . . . , . . 153 

Translations , . . . , , . . • *4S 

Twilight Time, At 60 

Unceasing Round, The . . . . , . , ' 61 

208 



Under the Linden . . , . . . .189 
Unfinished Portrait, The 32 

Vase, The 176 

Victor Hugo, From . . . . . . . . ^53 

Violet, The 186 

Voltaire, From the Miscellaneous Poems of . . . .148 

Walt Whitman, To 102 

Watts, To George Frederick . , , . . .103 

What is Heard on the Mountain . . , . . 157 

What is Poetry ? , . . . . , , .164 

Whittier, To 98 

William Blake, To 88 

William Watson, To 89 

Wordsworth, On Looking at Picture of . . . .75 

Work 37 

Ysaye 122 



209 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
018 483 288 4 J| 



